


Playing Favorites

by Chocoholic221B



Series: Historical AU [1]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: But Kurapika kind of is too, Chrollo is emperor and calls himself Kuroro, Chrollo is possessive, Edo Period-inspired, Historical AU, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by a lot of stuff honestly, Joseon Era-inspired, Kurapika is Chrollo's royal consort, M/M, Only Kurapika calls him by his real name, They're obsessed with each other, What the hell is this world?, aka 'companion', aka 'his husband for all intents and purposes'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocoholic221B/pseuds/Chocoholic221B
Summary: How to Kill Your EmperorStep One: Become Your Target's Consort.Step Two: Become His Favorite.Step Three: Sit Back And Don't Fall In Love.[In which Kurapika becomes Chrollo's favored consort and attempts to drag him to hell like the vengeful ball of fury he is. Only to fall in love with him like the numbskull he is.]





	1. The Consort's Exam

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I’m going to use Kuroro instead of Chrollo for the first time in my life because it fits the story better. This is loosely inspired by ‘The Wolf King’s Bride’ which no one knows about and that makes me sad. This fic doesn’t take place in any particular country, but it his heavily inspired by Korean and Japanese history (mostly Korean, though).  
> 2) Happy Valentine's Day!  
> 3) Fair warning, there's going to be implied sex in this fic. I'll bump the rating up if I have to, but it won't be anything too explicit.  
> 4) Sweet but slightly toxic KuroKura coming up.

**The Consort’s Exam**

The brush swept across the paper. The glossy, high-class ink dried quicker than any he’d seen, though he supposed that was due to the sheer money that went into making it. Nothing but the best of Ryusei for the Emperor’s potential consorts. How sweet.

Kurapika handed the scroll to one of the examiners, who told him to wait in the serving area. They continued to toss him strange glances and whispered amongst themselves.

“Such a beautiful young man,” one of them murmured, “but I was not aware men could attempt to become the Emperor’s Consort. Won’t it cause a controversy?”

Another replied, “I believe the Emperor feels most contrary to the idea of limiting himself to just the fairer sex.”

“So, it is allowed?”

“He got in, didn’t he?”

The other woman answered, confused, “yes, but is it not unseemly?”

“Oh, hush, Rina,” she scolded. “If the Emperor wishes to be in the company of men, then he can be. He is the Emperor. He can take whomever he wishes.”

Kurapika said nothing, though he heard every word. The ladies at the examiners’ desk were rather loud-mouthed. They reminded him of Leorio a bit, which in turn brought back the last memory he’d shared with the physician.

It had been the first time he’d seen Leorio get that mad. He had a temper, certainly, but he’d never screamed at him with such raw fury. That was more up Kurapika’s alley. He was the angry one. Leorio was always the one to calm him down.

_“So, you’re just going to sell yourself out? You have no idea what kind of guy the Emperor is! You can’t just . . .”_

_He’d averted his eyes and whispered,_ _“It’s not up to you -”_

_“What if he figures out what you really want? What if he finds out you want to kill him?”_

_Kurapika covered the physician’s mouth with his hand and eyed their surroundings warily. “Keep your voice down! These walls are thinner than they look.”_

_“Why can’t you just . . .” Leorio trailed off, thinking his statement far too cruel for Kurapika to handle. It sent his blood past the boiling point._

_“What?” Kurapika prodded. The man forced the poor medic to look him in the eyes, dark brown, fury-filled orbs ready to slice right through his heart and rip it to shreds. He should’ve stopped there. He shouldn’t have pushed him. But he did._

_Leorio backed away, but Kurapika followed him. Quietly, the man replied, “nothing. It’s nothing, don’t bother about it.”_

_“Tell me,” he pushed on, so close that they were almost touching. Kurapika gazed up at him, hating that he only barely reached the other man’s shoulder._

_Leorio broke off the stare, pink flooding his cheeks. What was he blushing about now? Perhaps, the man should visit a physician himself. Blushing so often couldn't be healthy._

_“Let it go,” Leorio muttered, gaze lowered to the ground. “They’re dead. Going after him won’t solve anything.”_

_The aspiring consort stepped away again, and Leorio visibly relaxed._

_“It will help plenty,” he whispered, with biting conviction._

_Kurapika returned to his study table and sat down as if nothing ever happened. The lantern’s candle flickered and illuminated his countenance. Pale, milky skin, set aglow in the warm light. As if it had captured the sun’s rays, his hair was dyed a striking gold. No one else in town had that sort of hair. His mother, a foreigner, had been so kind as to allow him to inherit her looks. He couldn’t be more grateful for the consideration. The blond hair, the rich brown eyes, his pretty face, they were all going to bring him one step closer to the Emperor. After all, his Majesty had a love for rare treasures._

Leorio said nothing for the rest of that night, and eventually went back to his room to study as well. The next day, he hadn’t gone to see him off. He’d stayed in his room until he left, brooding like a child, even though it was Kurapika who planned on throwing away his life.

One of the examiners called his name, and he withdrew from his thoughts. They told him the Testing Lady would be awaiting his arrival in the next room. She'd be proctoring his Skills Exam. The shortest test, but also the hardest. He wasn’t exactly the submissive, even-tempered character they were looking for. It’d be quite the miracle if he managed to get out of it without killing someone.

“In this exam portion,” the proctor started, “you will be asked to complete a series of tasks that are required of you on a regular basis as consort to the Emperor.”

The old, scowling woman gave him another look, probably wondering what her country had come to. A man trying to be a consort? How shameful.

How unfortunate for her.

They both sat down around a table, where hot tea had been set out for them.

“Explain to me, in great detail, what the duties of a consort are,” she prompted, bringing the teacup to her lips.

Kurapika did not touch his own tea. He wouldn’t want even the slightest distraction in his way.

“It is to comfort his Majesty,” he said. Usually, Kurapika would’ve spat out the title. But not now. They wouldn’t allow someone with such malice to be near their precious Emperor. “No matter how inconvenient it may be to us. It is to put his Majesty before ourselves. To love and cherish and support him.”

But in his case, it was to immobolize, murder, and burn his remains.

“That is correct,” she replied, sounding almost impressed. “Of course, another duty would be to bear him an heir, but seeing as you would never be able to do that -”

“Do not worry,” he reassured. “I will be sure to make up for my lack of proper reproductive organs.”

The woman’s eyes widened to a laughable degree, lips parted and face colored an embarrassed shade of red. “Kwon-ssi, that is highly inappropriate. The palace has no room for someone with such a vulgar tongue. Furthermore, as a consort, you are not allowed to speak out of turn.”

How rude. Assuming that she was of a higher social status than him. Most of the ladies here were noblewoman. For all she knew, he could be a highly esteemed young nobleman. But then, what nobleman dreamed of becoming a consort: A companion to the Emperor. Not one. They were too busy making their fortunes. Kurapika’s only legacy would be as the Emperor’s male consort: the first of his kind in the great history of the Ryusei Empire. What an honor. He wondered if someday a historian would come across the truth.

“What do you expect to give in your time as a consort?”

“Whatever is expected of me,” he replied. “If he wishes for me to jump of a bridge, I will gladly do it.”

_But only if he so kindly joins me._

“An interesting response,” said the woman, still disgruntled over his earlier comment. “Tell me, child. You did not put your birth family’s name and status on your application. Why?”

“They’re dead,” he replied, and the examiner nearly dropped her brush. “All of them. They got caught up in some of the riots. Bystanders, of course! They loved his Majesty. They wanted me to dedicate my every waking moment to him. It was their dying wish.” Kurapika turned solemn at that moment, instantly winning the favor of the old lady.

Alright, now he just had to keep this up and he’d be walking into the arms of his sworn enemy in no time.

“Oh, you poor child. No wonder you wish to be by his side,” the woman said, sympathetically, as she bowed her head in respect. “I’m sure you’ll be picked. It’s your destiny.”

_You better believe it._

“Thank you,” he sighed, despondent, before forcing a smile on his face. “I-” he cleared his throat of the pain. “I’m so glad they allowed me to do this. I was worried at first. I thought they wouldn’t let me in. But now I see, his Majesty is truly virtuous.”

“Oh, my child. You have such devotion to his Majesty. You’d make a wonderful partner for him. You’ve got one admirer in your corner already.” The woman dabbed at her eyes with a silk handkerchief, before blowing her nose in it loud enough to gain the attention of the guards on the other side of the room.

Kurapika smiled. Ah, the power of a tragic background. It took you places. Now, he just had to get through the next few phases and -

“Hey, Quizzy!” someone shouted from an adjacent room, a large door painted black.

“My name is Kaname, you bastard!” she screamed back, waving her fist in the air.

The person on the other side was silenced for a few seconds, before replying, “can you send in the next contestant, Quizzy? Machi and I are dying of boredom! Throw us another bone already!”

_Bone?_

"But he hasn't finished the rest of the exam!" 

"It's fine! Just send him in! We'll fake the reports, no problem!"

The woman’s scowl deepened. She regarded Kurapika with yet another sympathetic look. “They’re in that room right there. Don’t let them intimidate you. They’re no match for your devotion to the Emperor!”

“You really think so?” Kurapika asked, excited. He truly believed that if he hadn’t decided to become a play-toy for the Emperor, then he would’ve taken to a career in acting. He had the looks, the brains, the charm. Perhaps, when this was all over, he could hop on a boat to the West and start a new life there.

“Hiya, Kurapika!”

Kurapika suddenly found himself in a room with two polar opposites. A young baby-faced man with a permanent grin and strangely cut blond hair sat on one side of the table. Beside him, a young woman in a purple kimono sat quietly. She glared at him as if she wouldn’t hesitate to cut him down as soon as he made one wrong move.

“Hello,” he said, politely, “I’m Kurapika Kwon. I’m an aspiring con-”

“We know who you are,” the woman cut in, smoothly. She gestured to herself. “Machi. Seventh advisor to the Emperor.” She pointed to her companion. “Shalnark. Useless advisor to the Emperor.”

Shalnark seemed on the verge of tears. “Machi! That’s so mean!” He turned to Kurapika. “Isn’t she mean? You don’t have to hold back! Just let the contents of your heart spill free!”

Were they trying to intimidate him by being overly friendly? Well, it wouldn’t work. He knew plenty of overly-friendly people already. This was nothing new to him.

“So, how good of a kisser are you?” Shalnark suddenly asked. He'd pulled a piece of paper out of nowhere, brush poised gracefully over the mulberry sheet.

“Kisser?”

Shalnark clasped his hands together and started to speak in a strange voice. It was as if he was living his wildest dreams. “The Emperor needs comfort in more ways than one.” A slight blush tinged Shalnark’s cheeks. “He’s a lonely young man with needs that have to be fulfilled. As a consort, you are ow!”

“Stop spouting nonsense,” Machi scolded, her fist still hanging over the poor man’s head. “The Emperor isn’t interested in things like that. He’s an intellectual. He wants someone who can take the burden of ruling the Empire off him.”

Shalnark’s face turned devilish. He snickered out, “yeah, that’s why he’s picking out five of them.”

Machi hit him again. “That’s due to the tradition. You know as well as I do that he wouldn’t even be doing this if it wasn’t for that ridiculous law.”

_Thank the gods for tradition._

“My question still stands. If he marries this guy, they’re going to have to consummate their marriage. Which reminds me, how good are you in bed?”

This time he let out just a light whimper when Machi hit him.

“Don’t feel like you have to answer that,” Machi sighed, massaging her forehead. “He’s just a rambling idiot.”

“Hey!”

Kurapika didn’t see why he shouldn’t answer their questions. “I’ll be as good as his Majesty wishes me to be. Whatever he wants, I will offer.”

“Seriously?” Shalnark asked, moved by his faux dedication. He shook Machi’s arm. “Let’s hire him! Please? I like him!”

“Then, by all means, take him for yourself.”

Shalnark crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “Not my type. Too willful.”

“That’s what worries me,” Machi sighed. “I don’t know if Danchou would want someone so willing to follow his every command. He’s not one of us. He is his potential life-long companion. Danchou would prefer someone who can challenge him.”

Goodness, these requirements kept changing. Did they want docility or fierceness? He could play both roles perfectly, but which one would the Emperor be most enamored with?

“Are you on the side of the Lotus or the Kuyan?”

Political clans? Oh, they wanted to see how well-versed he was in the ins and outs of the government. He could do that.

“The Kuyan. I find their advocacy of women’s rights and foreign trade policies admirable. The Lotus are terribly old-fashioned. Some traditions are worth keeping, but so many have become outdated. There’s no more room for them. Having them stick around will only lead the country to an eventual standstill.”

“And you don’t think The Kuyan a little too optimistic?” Machi questioned, blue eyes taking on an icy glaze in the lighting of the room.

“Of course,” Kurapika replied, “but I prefer their optimism to the Lotus’ fear of the unknown. Progress didn’t come to the nations in the West because they hid under their blankets and avoided everyone.”

For a split second, he thought he saw Machi smile. Shalnark just gave him a proud little curve of the lips, quiet for once.

“Thank you, Kurapika,” Machi said, an inkling of familiarity surrounding his name. “You’ll be notified of his Majesty’s consensus in three days time. I believe you’ll have good news to look forward to.”

“You might as well start telling everyone you’re married ow! Machi! Stop hitting me! You’re the reason I’m gonna die young from brain damage, you know that?”

What a lively bunch. Did they really work for the Emperor? They seemed far too normal. Perhaps, that was just an act. Every monster needed a human disguise, after all.

. . .

“And you say the blond one seems the most promising?”

Shalnark nodded. Not a care in the world plagued him as his Danchou appraised the drawing. Machi’s handiwork wasn’t hard to spot. She’d captured his likeness perfectly, right down to the cold, calculating look in his eyes.

“I better see for myself what the fuss is about, then. Put him on the list. Give him the best carriage to the palace. Make him feel welcome. I want his guard down when I meet him.”

Shalnark grinned, despite the ominous words. The darkness didn’t scare him. His Danchou’s darkness was different. It was quiet and peaceful and reminded him of rainy nights spent in rickety, old cabins.

Still, for someone with too much good, the darkness could come to be suffocating. He just hoped that blond kid wasn’t one of them.

**. End of Chapter .**


	2. The Consort's Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika is dragged to the palace and meets the love, I mean, ENEMY of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Lots of bad flirting happening here
> 
> 2) I don't understand Kuroro's mind in this fic. He's a mix of cute, charming, and psychotic. 
> 
> 3) Kurapika likes the palace life. Hates the people who live in it.

**Playing Favorites:**

**Chapter Two: The Consort’s Meeting**

Three days later, a carriage pulled up to Kurapika’s address. It was a strange sight, as not many wheeled vehicles were allowed on the streets, nevermind a carriage. But, it was clear from the moment the carriage came into view who it belonged to. It was all-black with gold accents and pulled by two brilliant white stallions.

The King certainly wasted no time in getting here.

Kurapika’s stomach inexplicably lurched at the sight, the remnants of his stomach rising in his throat. But he clenched his teeth and pushed the nausea down.

A gruff voice called out his name. Kurapika swallowed thickly. If he talked now, his voice would crack, and if his voice cracked, Leorio would worry. So, Kurapika didn’t talk. He peered over his shoulder to see the man, who shifted nervously under his gaze.

“Kura . . .” he trailed off. Kurapika stepped forward, tongue still twisted with too many things to say. A pale, slender hand came up to rest on Leorio’s shoulder, and Kurapika smiled a bit in reassurance. Leorio tensed, jaw tightening, but eventually, his hand settled over Kurapika’s and gave it a small squeeze.

_Don’t go._

_Shut up. Please._

A knock on the door forced Kurapika to pull away, but the heat of Leorio’s hand lingered, and before he could begin to forget it, he was enveloped in that same heat.

_Don’t go._

Kurapika wrapped his arms around Leorio’s tall, gangly form.

_Let go._

“Kwon-nari,” the official’s voice rung out, respectful to an absurd degree. Kurapika understood. His status had risen. He had to act like it.

Surprisingly, it was Leorio who let him go first. The young medic shoved him away, as gently as he could, and Kurapika stumbled a little. He steadied himself against the door, before turning to toss the other man an icy glare.

Leorio grinned. “Send me some souvenirs, okay?”

Tears blurred his vision again, but Kurapika blinked them away, put on another smile, and nodded once.

“And some money too,” the doctor added. He scratched the back of his spiky head nervously. “I’m kind of running low.”

Kurapika snorted, “you’re always running low.” He slid the door open and outside a woman waited. Her short, dark hair was spiky at the ends, curling and framing her face. She wore the Ryusei Empire’s military uniform - a sleek, black tunic with a long matching coat and trousers. On her shoulders were golden epaulettes - and nearly half her face hid behind large, round spectacles.

“Are you Kwon-nari?” she asked, raising a scroll to her face and shifting her gaze from the paper to him and back to the paper once more.

“Yes.”

“You look better in the picture.”

Kurapika blinked, and said, “I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“Shizu,” someone called from the carriage. A big, hulking man with earlobes that reached his shoulders. He, too, wore a military uniform, but it seemed a bit small on him. Kurapika found him much more suitable for the role of a Spider than the woman. “We’re leaving. Danchou’s got a conference at noon, remember?”

“He does?” the woman asked, in that mellow, quiet voice of hers.

“We talked about it on the way here.”

“We did?”

“Shizu, just get in the carriage,” the man sighed, despondently.

“Okay,” she replied. The woman turned back to Kurapika and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.” And then he was being dragged to the cart.

Shizuku opened the door of the carriage and gestured for him to get in. Kurapika glared into the dimly lit carriage. It was like they were taking him to a funeral. Which, they would be soon, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

“Kurapika-nari,” Shizuku repeats, as she followed him into the carriage. “You’ll be going in to meet Emperor Kuroro after Lady Neon.”

Neon? Of the Nostrade clan? She was two years younger than Kurapika and had the mind of a child according to the rumors. She wasn’t cut out for this.“I see.”

“He wants you to make yourself at home while you wait,” she continued. “You’ll be escorted to your quarters. We’ll notify you when it’s your turn to meet the Emperor. Any questions?”

“I have many,” Kurapika replied. “But first, where does the Emperor wish to meet us?”

Shizuku tilted her head to the side. “I don’t know. Is it that important?”

“The location of this meeting will most likely dictate the content of the conversation,” Kurapika explained, a little irked that he was the one who had to explain this. Perhaps, the Emperor should hire some better help. “For example, if he is meeting us in his quarters, then the content will most likely be more intimate and personal. If it is in his office, then it will be more formal.”

“Huh,” the bespectacled woman said, “I never thought of it that way. Did you study a lot for this?”

“Pardon?”

“Did you study a lot for the consortship?” she repeated.

Kurapika grit his teeth and averted his eyes, not sure how to respond. If he answered honestly, then all his following actions might seem programmed. If he lied, then he’s come off as uninvested in the whole ordeal. “A little.”

“A lot, then,” she concluded in that same breezy tone. “Your application said your parents died.”

“Yes.”

“That’s sad. Emperor Kuroro is an orphan as well, so you’ll get along.”

Indeed, nothing said romance like dead parents.

The woman pursed her lips. “Do you prefer silk or satin?”

“Excuse me?”

“The Emperor’s buying you a new wardrobe. He wants to know what sorts of fabric you prefer,” Shizuku explained, eyes flitting across the scroll.

Kurapika blinked. “Why would I need a new wardrobe?”

“Because, you’re royalty now.”

Kurapika frowned. “When you said the Emperor would be meeting us separately, I’d assumed this was another interview -”

“It is.”

“Then, why?” Would he waste money on someone who might be sent home the same day?

“You’ve already been chosen,” Shizuku explained, adjusting her glasses. “This is just a formality.”

“Oh,” he breathed, and the small, selfish hope that his status as a consort hadn’t been confirmed yet vanished, replaced by that same resignedness he approached the rest of his life with.

“You sound disappointed.”

His head shot up again, eyes wide. “No! Not at all! I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“You’re surprised?” she asked. “I thought you were the smart one?”

“The smart one?”

Shizuku nodded. “Franklin! How much further?”

“We’re here.”

Kurapika peered through the windows of the carriage. The Imperial Palace was as magnificent as you’d imagine, painted red and green and a silvery blue, its curved, tiled rooftop glinting in the morning sun. If Kurapika had been a lesser being, he would’ve gaped at it. The gates stretched on for what looked like miles, then circled around, caging everything inside them. In the center, Kurapika could see the main building rising above and imagined nights gazing at the glow it gave off. Years ago, a younger Kurapika would’ve loved to have seen this. He would’ve eaten it up. Now, it was just a stark reminder that his enemy lived in luxury, his greedy hands stained with the blood of Kurapika’s parents.

“Your room is on the other side of the court,” Franklin said. “Phinks will take you -”

The monstrous man peered over his shoulder, that same neutral expression on his face. Kurapika followed his gaze. There, Shalnark stood with a bright smile on his boyish face and a little skip to his step.

“Shal, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, just popping in for a visit,” the familiar, cheerful man chirped, tossing an arm around Kurapika’s shoulders. Kurapika tried not to squirm in response. “Phinks is feeling a bit under the weather. Don’t worry, Franky, I’ll take it from here!”

And Kurapika was dragged past the gates by an over-excited Shalnark.

“You’re going to love your new home, Kwon-daegam!” he chatted. “It’s got a ton of books, and the bed is the most comfortable thing ever. You’re gonna have the best sleep ever in there. And the view is right over the Lin Garden, which is also the Emperor’s favorite place to stay, so you’re obviously already at the top of the consorts!”

“That’s nice,” Kurapika replied, though inside a strange, nervous energy constricted his chest. Already? Sure, Kurapika had planned on making it to the top from the start, but not so quickly. Too much attention would make it hard to move around, he’d be too busy evading everyone’s suspicious gazes to move along with the plan.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds, breathed in, and exhaled. The nerves lessened somewhat, and when he opened his eyes again, it was gone.

“Nervous?” Shalnark asked, crossing his arms and giving him a warm smile.

“Unfortunately.”

Shalnark shrugged. “Nothing we can do. C’mon, we’ll head to the room and get you some tea. Maybe, that’ll calm you down.”

“Oh, no,” Kurapika insisted, a part of him annoyed at how easily he forgot this man was his enemy as well. “I couldn’t impose. Besides, I work better under pressure.”

Shalnark narrowed his eyes, and then a grin split his face. “Okay, I’ll leave some tea for you to try later. Some raspberry white tea. It’s our specialty, no one can be a true member of the palace without trying it out at least once.”

“Well, I suppose if it’s not too much trouble -”

Shalnark waved his hand. “It’s not, it’s not. The maids will be glad to see someone with such great taste!”

Kurapika smiled. “Alright, then.”

. . .

His room was at least ten times bigger than his old one, with a large array of divans set up against the walls. He wasn’t sure why they needed so many of them, but it looked nice and expensive so that was probably all that mattered to them. There was a single, beautifully crafted desk in the center of the room, with futons set up around it. Nearby, a lavishly furnished bed sat, with far too many pillows, and brightly colored silk sheets.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Shalnark commented, hands on his hips. “He really went all out with this one. I mean, look at all these flowers!”

Ah, yes, the flowers. Stargazer lilies, regular lilies, spider lilies. This man seemed to be rather fond of lilies. And yes, they smelled just wonderful. Goddammit, what kind of monster was this guy?

“Lady Aiko just went in for her interview,” Shalnark explained, “Neon goes in after her, so you’ll probably be called in about fifteen minutes. These things usually don’t take too long.”

That was reassuring.

“I’ll come get you when it’s your turn,” Shalnark added, waving goodbye as he walked out of the room. “Make yourself at home.”

They kept saying that. Kurapika wondered why. Was it just to lure him into a false sense of security? He’d have to remain vigilant.

Now, what books had this man gotten for him? He might consider giving him a quick and painless death if they were interesting enough.

. . .

Shalnark returned after precisely fifteen minutes, a grin fastened to his face as usual.

“C’mon, Kurapika, it’s time for your first date with the Emperor!” Shalnark called, cheerfully.

The young consort-to-be sighed, shutting the book closed. It was alright, he supposed. He’d let the Emperor off with a quick and simple poisoning.

“Please don’t call it a date,” Kurapika said.

“Why not? You’re two reasonably attractive who will be spending the next few minutes alone together, learning about the other and talking about your future.”

“That’s a business proposal.”

Shalnark tsked, “so pessimistic. Don’t worry. The Emperor is a nice guy. Easy-going, easy to get along with, easy to be in love with. You’ll fall for him in no time.”

Kurapika almost laughed at that. Love? Oh, the deities would sooner raise his parents from the dead. No, really, the deities would have to raise his parents from the dead to create even the slightest chance of that happening.

Shalnark didn’t say anything more, choosing to simply lead him to the Emperor’s office. Past winding corridors and talkative maidservants, past the courtyard and the small river they’d made there.

“This is just the scenic route, by the way,” Shalnark announced. “The shortcut is just a minute, so don’t worry, you won’t have to get through all this every time you want to see your lover at work.” He winked, and Kurapika’s soul died a little. But that was normal, so he didn’t worry too much.

“Alright, here we are,” he said, as they came to a stop in front of large oak doors, not the sliding sort that ruled the rest of the palace.

Shalnark pushed him once towards the door, the way Leorio had, and promptly vanished. The consort-to-be bit his lip, his heart beating hard in his chest. This was the man who’d killed his parents, who would be his first victim, his first real lover. Such a mess of titles and they hadn’t even met once.

Kurapika went through his routine again. Eyes shut, breathe in, breathe out, eyes open. Kurapika turned the knob and pushed against the oak doors.

“I was wondering when you’d come in,” he said, without glancing up from the scroll spread across his desk.

Kurapika narrowed his eyes at the young man in front of him. He was more youthful in person, with his hair left down. He was clothed in a simple, black gwanbok, the attire most government officials wore these days, though Kurapika could tell it wasn’t as intricate or layered. The cloth contrasted his skin beautifully.

The Emperor glanced up at him. “Like what you see? Good, mutual attraction will benefit both of us in this relationship. Sit down, Kurapika.”

He raised an eyebrow. No honorifics? How crude.

Kurapika accepted his offer, sitting down across from the man.

“Is everything to your liking?” the Emperor asked, leaning his cheek against the palm of his hand, a fake sheen of fondness on his face. Kurapika could see straight through it, into the cold look in his eyes. This man was a monster. And he was going to have to pretend to love him for the coming months.

Kurapika nodded, politely. “You’ve done a lot to make us all feel welcome. Thank you.”

The Emperor smiled, reaching out to move some of his blond hair behind one pale ear. “I’m glad. How about the books?”

“You exceeded my expectations,” Kurapika replied, not even flinching at the movement. “Though, I must say ‘Wangjaui Nolae’ was an interesting choice. Should I perceive it as a threat?”

The Emperor chuckled, hand caressing his cheek gently, but his eyes remained as calculating and detached as ever. “I suppose that depends. Is there something our little Prince has been hiding?”

“I’m not actually a prince,” Kurapika whispered, teasingly, his hand enveloping the Emperor’s. “Though, I suppose we could change that if your majesty was as bold with your consorts as you are with your laws.”

The hand withdrew, and the Emperor laughed, the sound genuine this time. “My, aren’t you the charmer.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” Kurapika chuckled. “I dare say my heart skipped a beat.”

The two of them sat in silence for a few seconds, the Emperor taking in his face, Kurapika trying his best to keep his innermost thoughts at bay. _‘Kill him. Kill him. Kill him,’_ they chanted, and it took all of Kurapika’s self-restraint not to lash out. His hands clenched on his lap, itching to circle around his neck and _squeeze_ until the Emperor’s last breath leaves him.

None of the murderous thoughts came to the surface, as Kurapika artfully maintained that coquettish look on his face. His eyes looking up through thick lashes, his petal-pink lips pulled into a teasing little smile, his face flushed with the bit of laughter he’d let slip.

Kurapika glanced away, and in that moment, he knew he’d made a mistake. For a second, his mask shattered, and his feelings flashed across his face in one fell swoop. He struggled to pick up the pieces, and a few seconds later, the mask was back on, and if the Emperor noticed, he didn’t let it show.

“Well,” the Emperor sighed, eyes still fixated on Kurapika, “I’ll see you around, my little Prince.”

Kurapika took his hand and kissed it in parting, glancing up at the man, who simply wore a small smile on his face. “I certainly hope so.”

“You are far too casual about this,” the man chuckled. “I thought I was the one who had to be bold?”

Kurapika grinned. “I am said to be a very attentive partner.”

“And a very intelligent one, I imagine,” he replied. “Your views on the Lotus and Kuyan clans were quite insightful. I believe we’ll do great things together.”

“I think so, too.” _Let’s start with your complete and utter destruction._

The man nodded once, and Kurapika gave him one last charming smile.

As soon as the door fell closed, Kurapika leaned against the cold pane and shivered in disgust. He needed to cleanse himself of that encounter.

“Kurapika-daegam!” a cheerful voice called, and Kurapika quickly composed himself.

“Ah, I didn’t know you’d be back to pick me up as well,” Kurapika said, voice coming out a little harsher than he’d wanted.

Shalnark didn’t notice. “Of course, silly! What? Did you think I’d leave you here to fend for yourself? No way! You’re one of the Emperor’s consorts now, which means, you’re also on the top of everyone’s hit list.”

“I doubt anyone knows about this yet.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Shalnark smiled, nostalgically. “Back before people even knew that he was the long-lost Prince, the Emperor was targeted by assassins.”

They could find him in some obscure location, but they couldn’t finish the job? Amateurs.

“Well, c’mon,” Shalnark said, cheerful once more, “your tea awaits. And your bath, too. Did I mention that the bathing area in your room is amazing! Seriously, best bath you’ll ever have!”

“Yes, it seems everything here is amazing.”

. . .

Kurapika sighed, as he fell back on one of the divans. Shalnark wasn’t lying. The bath here was incredible. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt so refreshed. Now, if only the water hadn’t smelled so much like lilies. He’s got enough of those here.

The tea set stood nearby on a small, round table. It smelled lovely. Or, at least, not like lilies. So, Kurapika decided it couldn’t hurt.

He reached for the porcelain cup and brought it to his lips. It had a slight tang to its sweetness but it had a certain calming effect that was able to set even his mind to rest. He set it aside in favor of taking up the book he’d been reading before Shalnark came to get him.

He got halfway through a page, and then started to drift off, his eyes drooping, and the book falling from his hands.

The people might be horrible, but their hospitality wasn’t so bad, really.

. . .

Kuroro sighed, as he finished the last of the paperwork. That meeting at noon certainly took a lot out of him. Then again, this whole ruling business took a lot out of him.

He peered out the window in his office. The full moon hung low tonight, the stars dotted the sky. They weren’t as clear as the ones back home, but they did well enough.

Before he had time to ponder too much on the past, there came a knock on the door.

“Danchou!” Shalnark called. “Kurapika didn’t show up to dinner tonight! Can you bring him his food?”

Kurapika? Oh, right. His charming little Prince. A charming little Prince with a charming little secret. He wondered what he was hiding.

“And why can’t one of the servants do it?” Kuroro yelled back.

“Because none of the servants skipped dinner as well?”

“I said I’m not hungry,” Kuroro defended.

“Oh, come on. Don’t you want to have a romantic dinner with your husband?”

Kuroro considered. He could use this as an opportunity to gather information about the other man and learn what made his eyes reflect such a twisted soul.

The man stood and walked over to the door. Shalnark stood on the other side with a silver tray of food in his hands. Kuroro seized it and gave him a suspicious look.

“You seem strangely invested in this man.”

Shalnark clasped his hands behind his back. “The only thing I’m invested in is your happiness, Danchou!”

Kuroro’s brow furrowed, but he let it go, walking down the corridor and to Kurapika’s assigned quarters. The consort’s quarters were just around the corner, and Kurapika’s happened to be the first door on the right. Quite conveniently placed if he should say so himself. He slid the door aside, surprised to find it unlocked.

“Kurapika,” he called, as he made his way into the sweet-smelling room. He caught sight of him spread out across one of the divans, and his heart couldn’t help but warm up a bit. The man’s hand was splayed out across his stomach, reaching for the book that had fallen to the side. His face was tilted away, half of it hidden from view. Strands of golden hair spread across the black satin pillow.

Kuroro set the tray down on the table and ambled over to his consort’s side. How would he react when waking up to him?

“Kurapika,” he called, quietly, sitting down next to him and weaving his hand through his hair. It was strange how easily his movements seemed to come to him when it came to his young consort. “Wake up.”

He stirred, his hand moving to take his. His eyes slowly opened, squinting at him. They widened in recognition, and Kurapika shot up into a sitting position.

“Your Majesty,” Kurapika said, voice nervous and perhaps a little fearful. “Is everything alright?”

“You missed dinner,” he said, gesturing to the tray, “so I thought we could share.”

“Oh, of course,” Kurapika replied, relieved now, and Kuroro felt triumphant. The man was already slipping up. “I guess I slept for longer than planned.” The consort stood.

“Hmm,” Kuroro said, taking a quick look at the tea. Shalnark. “It wasn’t entirely your fault. The tea was drugged.”

“What?” Kurapika asked, whirling around on his heel.

“You should be more careful. Shalnark might seem friendly, but he’s a trickster first and foremost.”

Kurapika’s face contorted in anger for a second, before settling back into that calm facade. Strangely, Kuroro wanted to see more of that fury.

**. End of Chapter .**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and as always, please leave a comment below!


	3. The Consort's Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuroro . . . why are you like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate Kuroro. 
> 
> Kidding, I still like him. He's just . . . problematic this chapter. He gets better. I think. #PrayforPika

**Playing Favorites:**

**Chapter Three: The Consort’s Dinner**

Kurapika thought the food delicious, and the company rather ridiculous. Not because his Majesty was ridiculous, but because his heart beat so wildly thanks to him. _That_   was ridiculous.

He stuffed his face further, as if to put a cork on his emotions, to block out his heartbeat. The other man’s eyes bored into him, but he said not a word. He sat across from him, his chopsticks catching onto a few noodles, which he promptly, somehow elegantly, scarfed down. What kind of sorcery was this? Eating shouldn’t be elegant.

Well, he had to get to the throne somehow. It’s not like he was born in the palace. He arrived out of the blue after his father died. Many had speculated that he’d killed the old Emperor, but pretty soon the rumors vanished. Or rather, the ones spreading the rumors ran away. Pretty soon, he’d charmed everyone within his sight . . .

Damn, what if Kurapika got caught in his web as well? He hadn’t even considered that in all his years of training.

Kurapika shook his head, inwardly. He hadn’t considered it because it was utterly ridiculous. He couldn’t be charmed. He was blind to charms.

“You’ve become rather quiet, Kurapika,” the Emperor said, and once again, he could hear that air of informality in his voice. He was trying to break his walls down and lure him into his traps. Traps because there was undoubtedly more than one.

Kurapika flashed him a small smile. “I suppose that must be the sleep wearing off. I’m just a little tired.”

“I should get out of your hair soon, then,” the Emperor replied.

“You could stay if you’d like,” Kurapika offered, slipping into his consort persona seamlessly.

The Emperor let a fond smile grace his face. “As tempting as that sounds, I think you’d be better off adjusting to palace life on your own. Besides, we wouldn’t want the other consorts to get jealous.”

“If they’re jealous, then they’re not very good consorts,” Kurapika replied, bringing the non-poisoned tea to his lips. It was less fragrant than the raspberry white mixture Shalnark had prepared for him, but as long as it didn’t put him to sleep, he ranked it above that monstrosity.

An eyebrow rose, and the man in front of him gave him a strange, ponderous look, as if he was trying to put together a puzzle. “And should I spend the night with one of the others, would you remain untouched by envy?”

The words spilled out of his mouth as if he’d heard them play in his head since the day his presence blessed the word, a coquettish grin on his face, “you’ll soon find, your Majesty, that I am not a very good consort.”

The Emperor processed those words far longer than Kurapika had hoped he would. “Tell me about your family.”

“They’re all gone,” Kurapika replied, trying to move away from the topic before he could get worked up.

“I know that,” the Emperor said, no longer looking at him. It was such a casual, dismissive gesture that it made Kurapika’s jaw clench in fury, the motion keeping the hatred in his chest from spilling out of his mouth. “Tell me about them before their deaths.”

The possibility of him knowing crossed Kurapika’s mind again. But then, Kurapika couldn’t quite understand what he was doing still alive. The Emperor wasn't exactly merciful to his enemies. “They were bakers. We lived in the mountains and sold our pastries to the villagers there. A year before they passed on, we moved to the inner city, and we did well. And then they died in a riot.”

“I see,” the Emperor said. “What were they like?”

Kurapika balanced his chin on the palm of his hand in an attempt to loosen his rigid spine, hoping the movement would release the tension inside him. It didn’t. “I’d prefer not to go into detail.”

“As a consort, you’ll need to answer whatever questions you’re asked. Might as well start with something difficult,” the Emperor said, and it sounded so rational that Kurapika almost believed him.

“I’m not dense, I can evade a question without much effort on my part.”

“We politicians don’t rely on lying as much as you may think,” the Emperor replied, his voice icy. “This is purely a test of how well you can keep your emotions under control. That shouldn’t be too difficult for you.”

He was playing with him.

That was alright. Mother had taught him how to play this game.

Kurapika gave him a gentle smile. “I take after my mother appearance-wise. She was loved by everyone, though she also drove most people crazy at the same time. She always interrupted me while I was studying. My father was a lot more serious. He liked silence and books, and every Sunday we’d go outside with a handful of pastries and a pile of books and read on the terrace. Then, my mother would come out and say that it wasn’t healthy to sit around all day, and she’d herd us back inside, gather some supplies and we’d go hiking.”

“When did they die?”

Kurapika’s eyes narrowed. _Damn, keep yourself under control, boy._ “Five years ago, April fifteenth. I was sixteen.”

“A Sunday.”

“Indeed.”

“How poetic,” the Emperor said, standing up. He gave Kurapika that same patronizingly loving smile and offered him a bright red rose. “For you.”

The young consort did what any sane consort would do. He took it, gratefully, and then held out a scarlet spider lily. A trick he’d learned from Mother.

_Flowers win over everyone._

“ _Lycoris radiata,”_ the Emperor said, approaching his appointed lover, who currently stood just a few inches away from him, their lips so close that if one of them was given a shove they would meet. Kurapika held back a shiver of disgust. The way the moonlight haloed him, in contrast to the glow of the candles in the room. His pale, pale skin. The skin of a dead man. “I hope you don’t mean our relationship to end in tragedy.”

“Sometimes, we can’t quite control where fate takes us,” Kurapika replied. He didn’t believe it, of course. Fate. Destiny. He found the very concept laughable, but he figured someone as fate-bound as the Emperor would appreciate that tidbit.

“And is what you see a terrible end?”

“Perhaps.”

The Emperor’s eyes gleamed now. Was it from the candlelight, or from his own darkness? Could darkness gleam? What would that even be like? A gemstone, or something? Kurapika frowned inwardly. He didn’t like comparing eyes to gemstones. Eyes were full of life, windows to the soul. Gemstones, while pretty and sparkly, were dead.

Maybe, the comparison did fit his dear lover.

“Just for one of us, then,” the Emperor says.

“Jumping to conclusions now, are we, your Majesty?” Kurapika quipped. The Emperor moved away now, and a small sliver of a smile on his face, not the charming grins he’d given him earlier.

“I have one more question.”

“I am at your service.”

The Emperor met his eyes, and both their masks seemed to drop in that moment, shattered by the ice in that gaze. “Why did you decide to become the consort of someone you hate so dearly?”

Kurapika was stunned into silence, and the Emperor waited patiently for him to speak, all the while probably scrutinizing every single muscle in his face, in his body for signs of weakness.

“Hatred is quite a strong word.”

“Were we behind the murder of your parents?”

Kurapika’s lies were caught on his tongue, ready to make themselves known, but then they were dragged back in. This man gathered all this from just two encounters. Maybe, telling him the truth would intrigue the Emperor enough not to kill him right away?

“Yes.”

“Are you here to kill me as retribution?”

Mother would most assuredly punish him for this later. At least, she would’ve if she’d known. Which she might, considering that her spies might be anywhere. “Yes.”

The Emperor’s eyes narrowed, his face falling for once. He reached out to touch his cheek, his frigid fingers sending chills down Kurapika’s spine. “Do not tell anyone else of your allegiance.”

“Excuse me?” Did he think he was an idiot? He had been training for this position for the last five years! He knew not to tell anyone. The only reason he’d told the Emperor was because he already knew.

“Let’s see how long you last,” the Emperor said, and Kurapika fought down the urge to back away. “So, what do you say? Play with me?”

It was all a game to him, Kurapika realized. Was he so bored trying to run an entire nation?

“Why would you want to play a game with your murderer?”

“Because there’s nothing quite as thrilling as having your life on the line.”

Kurapika tried to scrutinize his face, a blank, honest face. He liked it. He liked the feeling of his life being threatened. It was a puzzle to him. A challenge.

The consort reached out and tugged at the Emperor’s collar and pulled him down. “Then, I will do my best to keep your interest, your Majesty.” Kurapika pressed his lips to the Emperor’s, and he felt the other man go stiff for a second, before arms caged his waist, pushing him up against his hated lover.  

It wasn’t as atrocious as Kurapika had expected. It was gentle and warm, not the demanding, greedy reaction he’d expected. His grip was tight around his waist, still, his fingers clutching the fabric of his magoja.

Kurapika broke away, hoping he looked properly flushed, his breathing labored. That look never failed.

The Emperor released him immediately, and Kurapika praised himself on the shocked look on the other man's face. Mother taught him well. The Emperor composed himself in a split second, back to his slight amusement. “Sweet dreams, my charming prince.”

“Likewise.”

The taller man pressed a kiss to his forehead, his hand brushing Kurapika's, and then left his consort’s lavish room without even sparing him another look. Kurapika sunk to the floor as soon as he could be sure that the Emperor was really gone. The bile rose in his throat. Who knew they’d get so intimate so early in the game? It was alright. He was used to these sorts of escapades. If he wanted to go fast, that was fine.

Dammit. Lies used to work.

Kurapika headed to the bathroom, took hold of the soap, and cleaned his mouth out with it. It tasted bitter, but he bore with it, rinsing his mouth out just as quickly. Sanitization complete. The man buried his face in his hands. _Damn. Damn. Damn._

This wasn’t what he’d expected to feel. Disgust, of course. Maybe neutrality, considering his training. Not _this_.

His lip curled in revulsion. Not at the Emperor, or at the kiss, but at his own body.

He’d enjoyed that kiss. He was not fine. He was physically attracted to that bastard.

Oh Gods, he might vomit.

He heard a knock on the door suddenly, and then a voice.

“Kurapika-nari?” they said. It was the voice of a woman, graceful and concerned. “Are you alright?”

Kurapika’s eyes widened in horror. Had they heard everything?

He quickly splashed some water on his face, composed himself as the icy water cooled him down. Then, toweling himself dry, he walked over to the door.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” he asked. There were two women behind the door. One, he recognized as Neon, with her bright blue hair and matching eyes, dressed in pinks and purples, her youthful face aglow in the light of the torches outside. In front of her, stood the woman who had spoken. She had blue eyes as well, though hers were far lighter, like a lake frozen over, paler lines striking through them like cracks in the ice. Her black hair was let down now, in long, straight locks. She wore a nightgown similar to Neon’s, though hers was much duller in terms of a color scheme. This was Aiko, he believed. She’d been groomed ever since she was born for this position, though her parents probably didn’t put her through as drastic measures as Mother did.

The woman shook her head. “No, we both woke up a while ago. We both found it rather lonely and decided to play a game of daifugo, but we need another player and when we saw that your light was still on, we decided to ask you to join us.” She could certainly talk quickly. “What say you to a round?”

Oh, thank the Gods for an escape from this damned thought spiral. Usually, he wouldn't agree to something like this. He had things to do, missions to fulfill, but right now, he couldn't be left to his own thoughts. Besides, it might be good to build a good rapport with the other consorts.

“I’d love to,” he replied. As usual, seeming much more composed than he actually was on the inside.

And so, the three consorts walked to the consort lounge and played a game of cards. Kurapika won. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

. . .

Kuroro felt a bit bad about that kiss. He hoped the poor boy didn’t think he wanted to take him so soon, or ever, for that matter. He might be cruel, but he wasn’t the type to force himself, mentally or physically, on someone else. The boy justs needed to get his emotions under control, that was all. He needed to be broken to the point where he was numb. After that, everything else would get easier. 

“Did somebody have a good time?” Shalnark squealed when Kuroro finally reached him.

“He’s an interesting fellow.” No, whoever got him into this was the interesting one. His little prince was just a pawn.

“Told ya.”

Kuroro chuckled, his hand on the iron door handle. “How is she doing?”

“Better now.” Shalnark’s smile waned a bit. “She woke up a few minutes ago to pain in her heart. It was going a hundred twenty beats per minute. It’s gone down now, but she still feels a bit dizzy.”

The door slid open, and Kuroro walked in, closing the door behind him. There were some things he preferred to do alone. “Hey, Paku.”

“Hey, kid.”

Kuroro bows his head, a rough chortle escaping his throat. “Will I ever not be a kid to you?”

_After all he’s done._

“What can I say? I’m an old woman. You’re all kids to me.”

_After all he’s taken away._

“You’re only two years older than me, Paku.”

_And all the grief he’s caused._

“Really, I feel so much older. It’s probably just my stunning maturity.”

_She’s still here._

**. End of Chapter .**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #PrayforPika
> 
> Let's hope the real romance starts up soon. And yes, Paku does have heart disease. I thought it was fitting since she died of a heart attack (Pika's chain) in the actual manga. So, yeah, Paku's still around, and she's still awesome. Kuroro and her have a very sibling-like relationship. She's been supporting him the longest out of the Spiders.


	4. The Consort's Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding and drunk Pika?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, but I hope you enjoy regardless. Love y'all.

**Playing Favorites**

**Chapter 4: The Consort’s Kiss**

He wanted to do it again, damn hormones. 

Kurapika lay on the lavishly furnished bed, half wrapped in the light blue sheets, his skin too warm for all the layers presented to him. Below the fabric, his heart beat erratically. 

He’d played the card game, even drank some wine to wash away his unwanted memories, but in this case, alcohol probably wasn’t the best solution. It just made your judgment fuzzy, your actions rash, your heart stupid. It was alright during intimate moments, Kurapika knew, but in a high-stakes situation like this, alcohol was the last thing he needed in his body. 

Damn alcohol and the tiny portion sizes Aiko had given out to lure him into a false sense of security.  

Kurapika rolled onto his side. He’d kissed a lot of people before. Men, women. This wasn’t fair! He had experience, dammit! He should be basking in the glorious light of surviving day one of his consortship, not blushing over kisses that lasted a whole of five seconds. 

Maybe, this was good. Mother never told him to avoid attraction, just attachment. As long as he didn’t become attached, he could want as much of the Emperor as he wished. It could even make their relationship more believable to prying eyes. 

Kurapika could practically hear his parents screeching at him from the heavens. The Emperor was meant to be his enemy, and his attraction would only put a damper on his anger.

Kurapika sat up now, spurred on by some sort of irrational fear, some sort of anxiety, at the thought of his anger fading even a little bit. He didn’t go through all those sleepless nights for nothing. 

The wind blew in through the window in soft, beckoning gusts, and Kurapika felt his mind clear a bit. A walk outside couldn’t hurt. It’s not like there would be an assassination attempt after a day. Kurapika knew how much work went into assassinations. There was no way someone would be able to take care of him so soon. 

The young consort traversed the corridors for a few minutes, conjuring up his mental map of what he knew of the palace so far. He passed blue satin curtains and silk tapestries, polished golden sconces and furniture, and it made the lump in his throat grow. One could drown in all the extravagance and luxury that permeated the walls of this place, made even worse by the ethereal light of the moon. One would think they were in a Palace made for Gods rather than murderers. 

Kurapika closed his eyes to the gentle summer-scented breeze, his bare feet cold against the wooden bridge he stood on now, where he could feel every splinter and every grain. His eyes opened again, slowly, brown orbs drinking in the dark water of the stream as it clashed against solid ground. Moonrays streaked through the inky blue, and Kurapika remembered the streams in the village, and how the adults used to go fishing in darkness. He couldn’t see anything in these waters.

Even in his drunken state, he was horribly depressed. Wonderful. 

“Oi, kid! Behind you!” a gruff, loud voice shouted, and Kurapika turned on his heel, glimpsing just a glimmer of metal before registering that it was time to duck. He wasn’t sure where the lone arrow lodged itself, but he knew where it had meant to. Straight through his heart, and after being destabilized, another would’ve followed with a target at the back of his head. 

Someone approached him, and Kurapika jerked away. In front of him was quite the goliath of a man, being several feet taller than Kurapika and so muscular the avenger thought he was better suited to a fighting ring rather than an elegant palace. The clothes he wore looked expensive yet casual, made for fighting, but perfectly suitable for meeting other officials. 

“Phew, that was close!” the man exclaimed, far louder than necessary. He looked down at Kurapika, who was still crouched on the ground, though he had relaxed considerably. No doubt, it was just one of the Emperor’s idiots.  “Well, where’s my thank you?”

“Pardon?” Kurapika responded, flatly. 

“Don’t mind him,” another, smaller man said, his voice a mix between a hiss and a whisper. His eyes narrowed and the lower half of his face concealed behind a mask. “He’s an idiot.” 

“S’that so?” Kurapika slurred, the adrenaline wearing off now, replaced by the same intoxication. He swayed a bit upon standing, falling back against the railing. The giant raised an eyebrow. 

“Eh, are you drunk, kid?” he asked, sounding almost concerned now. Which was ridiculous. Why would one of the Emperor’s idiots care about him? Oh, maybe it was his newfound status. That could be it. 

The small man snickered. “As a sailor on shore leave.”

“I am not,” Kurapika protested, drunkenly, pushing himself off the railing and promptly losing his balance. 

. . .

Not long after Kurapika found himself passed out, did Chrollo’s faithful servants barge into his room unannounced with the young man hanging limp in Uvogin’s arms. His vengeful consort looked as beautiful as ever, his porcelain skin appearing more fragile than Chrollo remembered it being, his cheeks tinged pink from the alcohol. 

Chrollo rolled over to his other side, away from the door and Uvogin. He was far too tired for this. “Just drop him on the divan.” 

“Are you sure? He’s pretty drunk.” 

“Yes. Close the door on your way out,” Chrollo ordered, before allowing himself to sink into sleep again, trusting Uvo to do as he said. It wasn’t until much later that he awoke to the sound of muttered swearing. Kurapika sat on the divan, his feet tucked under him as his hands clutched his hair.

“Tsk,” he murmured, still believing he was alone in the room, “damn alcohol.” 

Emperor smirked, though his eyes fell closed again. “You reap what you sow.”  

His consort laughed, bitterly, and it was clear he wasn’t in the healthiest state of mind at the moment. “I certainly hope so.”

“Are we losing it already, my dear Prince? We’re only on day two,” Emperor spoke, knowing the man wouldn’t respond well to such provocation and somehow looking forward to it. 

He felt the bed tip a bit as extra weight was put on it. Turning to him, Emperor’s orbs met Kurapika’s much livelier, much angrier ones. 

“Have I hit a nerve?”

. . .

“Don’t mock me,” he seethed, imaginary knives stabbing through his skull, splitting it into two. He ignored the pain, ignored the fact that he was letting go. The young consort straddled his waist, and the Emperor only smiled at him, smug despite the fact he was pinned down to his own bed. 

The Emperor took hold of his hands, and Kurapika blocked out the caress of his fingers as he placed his own on his neck. “How does it feel, knowing my life is in your hands?” 

“I’m not going to kill you now,” Kurapika said, indignantly. He wasn’t an amateur, for God’s sake. 

“But you could.” 

There was silence, as Kurapika processed the reasoning behind his words. Their world was filled with birdsong and rustling leaves. 

Ah, this was part of the game. He was trying to force his hand.

Kurapika’s hands slid away from his neck and down to his clothed chest. He braced himself for whatever wave of emotion would come after this, and then leaned down to place a few kisses along the Emperor’s clavicle. 

“You -” The Emperor said just as Kurapika met his lips. 

“Good morning, Dan-Dan - oh, dear god!” Shalnark covered a wide grin with his hand. “Have some tact, at least wait until you’re married!” 

The Emperor chuckled, sitting up, and Kurapika backed away without another word. “I believe there’s no law against consummating our relationship before marriage.”

Kurapika glared at him. In response, the Emperor offered him a simple, innocent smile.  Shalnark’s eyes flit between the two, and, realizing he was intruding on a rather intimate moment and hadn’t yet evacuated the area, he quickly retreated back behind the screen door.

The young consort turned back to his lover. “What did you mean by that?” 

“You certainly don’t shy away from this sort of thing,” the Emperor yawned, getting up from the bed and stretching. “Don’t worry about it.” He leaned down and cupped his chin. “Just because you’re my consort, does not mean we’re lovers.” 

“Yes, it does.”

The Emperor’s smile dropped. “You’re quite an argumentative little Prince, aren’t you? I’m the Emperor, I decide what you are.” 

Kurapika rolled his eyes. “Pardon my rudeness.” 

“So, no more of your displays of affection, my Prince,” the Emperor said, straightening now. “Relax. You’re not going to win our game by forcing yourself to damage your psyche.” 

He raised his eyebrow, clearly waiting for Kurapika’s agreement. All he got was a small indignant scoff and a sudden aversion to eye contact, but that seemed to be enough for him. Without another word, the Emperor walked away from his slightly perplexed consort, towards what was probably his bathing area. 

Hearing the sound of gushing water, Kurapika fell back on the bed and ran the last few minutes back through his head.  

Was it just him, or had he just been rejected?

How strange. Mother had expected the Emperor to have a much healthier sexual appetite. When all else failed, she always told him seduction was the way to go. But it seemed, he couldn’t quite be seduced. 

Kurapika’s eyes fell on the door to the bathing area. Could it be? The man actually had some virtuous qualities. 

Impossible. This must be a part of one of his schemes, somehow. A part of this game they were playing. Kurapika still wasn’t quite sure what the terms were, but they were certainly tipped in the Emperor’s favor at the moment. If only he knew how to win, or even more importantly, how not to lose.

. . .

“A party?” Kurapika had long since found that the two major emotions he regards everything that isn’t the Emperor with were incredulity and exasperation. 

“Technically, it’s a Festival,” Shalnark corrected. “And it’s in honor of the consorts. That’s why it’s called the Consort’s Festival.” 

“I never would’ve guessed,” Kurapika replied, humorlessly.

Shalnark pouted. “Are you still mad about the tea incident, Kurapika-daegam? I was just trying to speed things along.”

Kurapika blinked rapidly, then tilted his head to the side. “I’m not mad.” If anything, he was just a bit tired. It was odd, but he couldn’t seem to get truly mad at Shalnark. Annoyed, maybe. Ready to seal his mouth together with some sort of adhesive at times, certainly. But nothing quite like the anger he thought he’d feel. Perhaps, it was the rational part of him that refused to hate someone blindly. On the other hand, it might just be that whenever he thought about the murderer of his parents, it was the Emperor’s face that was ingrained in his mind, not Shalnark's.

“You seem mad,” Shalnark murmured, but then he shrugged. “Well, the festival spans three days and starts next week. So, you know, prepare yourself?”

“I will,” he replied, sinking further into the sudsy, soapy water. An expectant expression crossed his face. 

“Right, I’ll leave now. Pardon my barging in,” Shalnark said, bowing and leaving the room. Kurapika sighed. How did these people always catch him in some state of undress? 

The door slid open again, and Kurapika instinctively went rigid. Shalnark’s head popped back in the gap left by the screen.

“Oh, by the way, would you prefer a sweet or savory breakfast?” 

“I don’t mind either way.”

“Okay, I’ll get you the same thing as Danchou, then!” he chirped, shutting the door behind him.

Kurapika heaved a sigh again, relaxing considerably. He’s been sighing a lot lately.

**. End of Chapter .**


	5. The Consort's Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Consort's Festival is about to begin and a friend comes bearing bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter. I wrote the first and second half at different times so the writing is a bit strange thanks to differing ideas and writing styles. I hope it's not too bad.

**Chapter Five:**

**The Consort’s Festival (Part One)**

If there was one thing Kurapika missed about his old place, and there were many but only one fit that particular moment, it was being able to sleep in. The few years after he met Leorio, he always worked night shifts at odd jobs. He never stayed long in an effort to not make any connections with his prospective bosses. Leorio was enough of a hassle. Besides, it usually didn't take too long for his previous life as a prostitute to resurface. The constant shifting helped keep his past life perfectly anonymous. 

There were no night shifts for the Consorts of the Emperor. There was no such thing as sleeping in if you wanted to be fed without having the Emperor barge into your personal suite to eat with you, all-the-while feeling like you were the one who was about to be eaten.

“Kurapika-daegam!” one of the maids called as they entered his suite. Kurapika tried his best not to let his annoyance show. These women had done nothing to deserve his ire. “How are you doing today?” They swung the drapes aside to let in some sunlight, which Kurapika’s eyes heartily protested against. “Did you sleep well?” One of the maids dragged him out of bed after a confusing half-bow. “You’re so skinny, Kurapika-daegam. Make sure to eat a lot at breakfast today!” They said as they took turns putting various robes to his chest. “Your complexion goes very well with cool colors, Kurapika-daegam!”

“Thank you, Kiya,” he said, his head still reeling from the sudden onslaught of motion.

The young maid placed her hands over her mouth. “Kurapika-daegam,” she whispered. Then, she bowed and gave him a wide, red-cheeked grin. “I am so honored you remembered my name.”

One of the other maids slapped her arm, lightly. “Kiya, you can’t just flirt with the Emperor’s only male Consort.”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Kiya defended, though her tone was apologetic.

“It’s alright,” Kurapika said, raising his arms placatingly. “Would you ladies mind waiting outside as I get ready?”

“Kurapika-daegam!” all four maids cried.

The leader, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair and a loud, gravelly voice added, “You’re too thoughtful! We’ll leave immediately. C’mon girls, let’s go!”

These people . . . were far too energetic to be working in this place.

Kurapika sighed. It had been a week since his arrival at the palace and the Festival was just a day away. The celebration revolved around them, but thankfully, it didn’t really require them to do any real work. It was mostly just for the people to remember that they’re all above them. Traditionally, Consorts had little to do officially. If they wanted to, they could all just laze around all day writing poetry and reading enlightening novels. Kurapika had great potential with the latter, though the former, well, let’s just say Kurapika wasn’t blessed with a poet’s heart. He’d tried, once, when Mother thought he might be forced to write some poetry for the Emperor at some point. He failed miserably. Words came to him fine, but all his poetry ended up too literal and too angry.

Ah, poetry. The only thing he could never excel at even when fueled by his fury.

So, when he walked into the Consort’s Lounge – something he’d heard about in stories and was just as extravagant as you might imagine. The walls were painted cream and accented with colorful landscapes. Several cushioned mats laid on the floor by beautifully crafted tables filled with delicious snacks and beverages. There were divans lined with colorful pillows. – he was quite taken aback at the news that the Consorts did, in fact, have to help with Festival Preparations. In a way befitting their elegance and intelligence: poetry.

“I see,” he said, as Machi delivered the news. The rest of the Consorts seemed quite confident in their abilities, and Kurapika tried to mirror them, but deep inside, his heart shriveled up in dread. Or, whatever was left of his heart, anyway. His stomach didn’t seem all that enthusiastic either, and for a second, Kurapika thought about getting up and vomiting the contents of his breakfast in the bathroom toilet.

But then, everyone would know he was ridiculously nervous. He could not allow that to happen. The other Consorts might seem docile and friendly, but deep down, they were all here for the same reason: To be the Emperor’s favorite. And just like Kurapika, they would undoubtedly fight tooth and nails for that position.

“Kurapika-nim,” Aiko spoke from the cushion right beside his own, “do you have anything planned out yet?”

Goodness, they were already planning things out? He’d barely gotten through the anxiety phase.

“Ah, no, I don’t like planning out my writing. I feel the premeditation takes away the heart of the poem.” It was going to turn out horrible whether he planned it out or not, so why bother?

The other Consorts praised his dedication, but something told him they weren’t quite as impressed as they’d have him believe.

“Well, I’m going to take a stroll around the Palace grounds,” he announced, standing up. He moved the screen door aside, gave a small smile to the guard at the door, and then walked away. It was such a strange emotion, loneliness. It hit you when you least expected it. After a week at the Palace, he was finally feeling it a bit. He missed home. Not home, precisely. He missed  _Leorio_. And it had only been a week. How pathetic. The faster he got rid of this feeling, the better.

Kurapika sat down on the edge of the fountain, a long, sprawling contraption spanning an eighth of the garden inside the palace grounds. There were a few leaves floating around, but other than that, the water was a clear blue against the white marble of the fountain. Leorio would’ve fainted at all the money that must’ve gone into building the palace. He’d always been rather stingy.

“I know that look.”

Kurapika jolted, meeting gray eyes. The Emperor stood just a few steps away, looking down at him with an indiscernible expression. His hair was swept back today, his tattoo in plain sight.

“Your Majesty,” Kurapika greeted. He started to stand up, but the Emperor put a hand on his shoulder. He stayed down, and the Emperor joined him, gazing into the pristine water wistfully.

“I call this Oeleun Bonsu,” the Emperor said. He fixed those dark eyes on Kurapika, and the young man felt his heart race a bit. “Do you know why?”

Kurapika averted his eyes, straining his mind to remember a Lonely Fountain in his Mother’s teachings and textbooks.

“You shouldn’t,” the Emperor said, smiling now and looking away. “My mother gave it that name. It’s where she went to drown her sorrows. Mostly loneliness. But also anger and frustration. Feelings I’m sure you experienced even before coming here.”

Kurapika turned away from the fountain and clenched his hands in his lap. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Who knows?” the Emperor sighed, leaning back on his palms. “I suppose you just reminded me of her, sitting there. She became a Consort to get away from her family back in the West. She had no idea what awaited her here.”

Did he expect Kurapika to feel bad for his plight? Alright, he felt a bit bad for his mother, but that made no difference in how he felt about the Emperor himself.

“So, now it’s your turn.”

Kurapika raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“What brought you here. I was missing my mother, and you . . .”

Kurapika scoffed, “I’m not telling you that.”

“How cruel.” The Emperor got up and started walking away. “Well, I consider this a success on my part.”

“Hmm?”

The Emperor turned to him ever-so-slightly. “In a whole of ten minutes, you haven’t tried to kiss or kill me. That is my win.”

_I’ll show you killing –_

No, no, he was fine. He was great. He didn’t want to kill anyone. Well, he did, but that wasn’t the point. Should he kiss him again? That seemed to work in distracting the Consort from his more murderous thoughts.

But he asked him not to.

As if he cared.

Ah, but it wasn’t like he wanted to kiss him. Well, he did. That was, his body didn’t seem against the notion, simply because Kurapika had eyes, was attracted to members of the opposite sex, and the Emperor was absolutely gorgeous. To be completely honest, the part of Kurapika that acted on pure carnal desires, probably wouldn’t mind spending the night with the Emperor. It was just sex, after all.

However, there was more to Kurapika than just his carnal desires. And the much larger, much more logical and moral side of him, recoiled at the very idea.

What was it he’d said before? That his mother used to come to the fountain to drown her sorrows. That sounded great right about now.

. . .

After successfully drowning the bulk of his sorrows in the fountain, Kurapika returned to his room and wrote poems all day. It was terrible. They were all about moon rays and sunrays and deathrays and he found it rather disconcerting that his favorite was the deathray one. He wasn’t sure what a death ray was, but it sounded destructive, and he was feeling pretty destructive right about now.

“Kurapika-daegam,” Shalnark barged in. The man had exceedingly poor manners. “How ya doing?”

“Hello, Shal,” he murmured.

The man’s grin fell into a fond smile. Kurapika raised an eyebrow and asked what was the matter with him. Shalnark just shrugged. “You’ve given me a nickname. That means you’re getting used to me.”

Kurapika narrowed his eyes. Was he getting used to him? That would not do. He dipped his pen in the bottle of ink on the table, and then put it to the yellow-ish paper. “That’s hardly the case. Shalnark is simply too difficult to pronounce.”

“Løgner,” Shalnark muttered to himself, and it was a language Kurapika just vaguely recognized. A language his mother used to speak when she was tired or angry, or when she sang him lullabies as a child.

“I didn’t know you could speak Scandinavian,” Kurapika said, turning to him this time, his pen still on the paper.

Shalnark gave him a small, wry smile. “Born and raised there. In the slums. I had nothing until Danchou found me.”

“I see,” Kurapika replied. Just as he had taken everything from him, the Emperor had given Shalnark everything. He only served those who served him.

“Do you know someone from there?” Shalnark asked, sitting down next to him now, forgetting the reason he sought Kurapika out for the moment. He strained his eyes to read what Kurapika had written down on the parchment. “‘ _To know a rock?’_  That sounds . . . interesting.”

Kurapika ignored his comment. “My mother lived there before she moved here for her studies and met my father.”

“She must’ve really loved your father to leave everything behind,” Shalnark said. Kurapika could tell he was trying to push the issue, and that was something he would not allow. 

“You wanted something from me?” Kurapika prompted.

Shalnark pouted but conceded. “Danchou wants to talk to you.”

“Surely, he can wait until morning.” Kurapika yawned and placed the pen aside. “It’s past midnight now. We both need our rest.”

Shalnark laughed, and it somehow unsettled Kurapika. He seemed so sincere, and yet, the object of his cheeriness was hard to discern. “He thought you’d say that, so he told me to threaten you with jail time.”

Kurapika’s eyes widened comically, and Shalnark chuckled again, coming closer and patting him on the back a bit too hard.

“Don’t worry, though. I’m not going to throw you in jail,” Shalnark said.

_You might want to, though._

“I appreciate it,” Kurapika replied, standing up and stretching. “Alright. Who am I to deny his Majesty my presence?”

Shalnark slid the doors open and gestured for him to exit the room first. He heard it shut close behind him, and the young advisor let his boss’s lovely consort to his office on the other side of the palace. Kurapika briefly wondered why they were on opposite sides. Surely, since the Emperor visited them at odd hours of the night – assassin hours, let’s call them – it would make more sense to have his quarters closer to theirs. But no, he had to cross an entire courtyard in plain view to get to him.

The young man once more allowed him to enter before him, but this time Shalnark stayed outside. The Emperor peered up at him from his desk, those strange, grey eyes calculating his every step.

“How’s the poetry coming along?” The Emperor asked.

“Quite well, your Majesty,” Kurapika replied. He’d better keep his mask on. There were guards outside of the door, as well as Shalnark. “Your advisor informs me that you’ve requested my presence?”

The Emperor put aside the paperwork he’d been mulling over and started working on the next pile. “There’s been a bit of a breach of security.”

Why would he tell him this? If it was so important, then he would’ve told all the consorts. If it wasn’t, he’d tell them at breakfast. Could it be? Impossible, Mother would never send him.

“A young man by the name of Pairo. He says you know him,” the man said, the tip of his pen gliding along the parchment elegantly. Kurapika’s fists clenched, and he bit down the urge to demand to see his best friend.

“I do. What happened? Where is he?” Kurapika asked, keeping his voice intentionally low. He would scream if he didn’t whisper.

The Emperor glanced up at him for a split second, a curious look in his gaze. “You seem to care greatly for this boy.”

“He’s an old friend,” Kurapika spoke, more urgently now, as his thoughts continued to race. What were they doing to him right now? What if they were torturing him, prodding him for the answers Kurapika wouldn’t give? What if this was part of the Emperor’s game, and Pairo wasn’t here? He couldn’t lose control now, but he couldn’t let it go either.

“We put him in the dungeon,” the Emperor finally replied, eyeing him for signs of weakness. “He’s not harmed, just unconscious. He might’ve woken up by now.”

“Did he carry a bag with him?” Kurapika asked, leaning down to his eye level, his hands clutching the edge of the desk.

“Yes?” He gave him a perplexed look, and the consort’s blood boiled, with fear, with anger, with frustration. It was past midnight. Pairo’s heart would start acting up again soon.

“Where is it?” Kurapika hissed, the paperwork was thoroughly disheveled now, much of it scattered on the floor. The Emperor even dared to look disheartened at his disordered workplace. His temper thoroughly riled, the man grabbed him by the collar of that beautifully crafted overcoat. “Tell me where it is!”

A smirk spread across the Emperor’s face, as a finger made its way to Kurapika’s lips. “Hush, my prince. You wouldn’t want anyone to hear you.”

“I’ve had enough of your games,” Kurapika raged on, his eyes filling with liquid. The Emperor remained silent, and Kurapika realized he wouldn’t get anything out of him with fury and fists. The fingers around his silken collar loosened. Pairo’s life was at stake. He didn’t have time to rough him up. “Pairo has a heart condition. He always keeps his medicine in that bag. Please, without it he’ll die within minutes.”

Something changed in the Emperor’s face. It wasn’t pity or even sympathy, it was something far more complex, something Kurapika wouldn’t understand until much, much later.

“The bag’s currently being inspected for weaponry and signs of poison.” The Emperor stood up and headed for the door. “I’ll take you to the lab.”

Kurapika would’ve cried out of relief if he hadn’t been in plain view of some of his worst enemies. His legs felt heavy suddenly, and he had an odd wobble to his walk, but he followed the Emperor briskly. Brain feeling rather overwhelmed, he didn’t manage to say anything, his speech lessons abandoning him because he had nothing but a ‘thank you’ resting on the tip of his tongue.

He heard the Emperor talk with the inspectors, who threw him pitiful looks. The Emperor gave him the medicine - a syringe and a small vial of clear liquid - which he accepted with shaking hands.

“It’ll be alright,” the Emperor whispered in his ear somewhere along the path to the dungeon, but Kurapika was too wrapped up in his panic. Everything was loud, and yet he couldn’t make anything of it. Just that Pairo was somewhere within the stone walls of the dungeons, sleeping on a cold floor, with his heart slowly giving up. Criminals gave them strange looks, though the sight of the Emperor seemed to tighten their throats. They all wanted to keep their heads. Kurapika sped past them until a head of messy brown hair won his attention. His heart clenched. His throat grew thick.

“There ‘e is,” the prison warden said, giving the shivering boy an empty stare as he unlocked the door. “Safe n’ sound.”

“Safe and sound?” Kurapika choked out, furiously, sitting down next to his friend and placing his head in his lap. He brushed some hair out of his face, and deep brown, pupil-less eyes looked up at him, though he knew they couldn’t see him.

“Kurapika,” he rasped, one hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “Kurapika, is that you?”

“Yes, yes it’s me,” Kurapika whispered, relief filling his chest. “I’ve got your medicine.”

Pairo rubbed his eyes, his breath still coming out in short gasps of air. “Eh, did you sanitize it?”

Kurapika chuckled, placing an arm around his shoulders. “Of course. Several times. Here, give me your hand.”

Pairo held out his arm to him, and Kurapika inserted the needle into his vein. He pulled it out, wiped the wound with some antiseptic, and wrapped a bandage around it. He helped him back up onto his feet.

“You can stay in my room,” Kurapika reassured, giving the Emperor a glare before the man could let out even the slightest protest. “It’s got a great view.”

The boy did a little half bow to the Prison Warden and Emperor, and said, still in that breathy voice, “Thank you for having me!”

Kurapika snickered at the surprised looks on their faces. Pairo might be just as hellbent on revenge as he was, but he didn’t think that allowed them to be rude to their hosts. He was better than Kurapika, and that was probably why he was never a candidate for this job. Pairo loved people too much. He was too kind, too forgiving. He might hate them now, and his resolve might be as strong as Kurapika’s, but killing was against his nature. Deceiving people was against his nature. As good of an actor as he may be, he could never pretend to be in love and make love to someone he hated. This job had been passed to Kurapika for that reason.

“Has he forced you?” Pairo asked, when they made it to Kurapika’s bedroom.

Kurapika looked at him, with his concerned stance and creased face. He tapped his forehead. “Don’t worry too much, it’s bad for your heart.”

He grimaced and Kurapika sighed.

“No, he hasn’t. The Emperor is a strangely civilized piece of work.” He got some bedclothes from his wardrobe and tossed them to Pairo, whose eyes nearly popped out at the feeling of the soft fabric. “And I don’t think he will any time soon, so relax.”

“Do you think he suspects anything?” Pairo asked. Kurapika led him to the bathroom and turned the faucet on. He splashed in some flower-scented liquid soap as he gathered his words.

“Well, you see . . .” Kurapika started, biting his bottom lip. “It’s a bit complicated. He . . . already knows that I’m trying to kill him.”

“Huh? And he’s letting you live? No imprisonment or anything?” Pairo asked. “That’s so weird.”

“I think . . . he’s enjoying it,” Kurapika admitted, turning to look at Pairo over his shoulder. The boy made a face.

“What a creep.”

Kurapika laughed, and he surprised even himself at that. Pairo just made him feel so at home. More at home than even Leorio. He put his mind at ease. “The bath’s ready for you.”

“It’s one of those fancy ones, isn’t it?” Pairo said, untying the red sash around his waist. “I didn’t even know these existed until you wrote to me about the one in a client’s house. Whose was it again?”

He left the bathing area and closed the door, obscuring his view of Pairo. “I don’t know. I had a lot of clients.”

“The most popular man in Mother’s entire House,” Pairo agreed. There was the sound of splashing water and then, “Woah! Even the water here is high class!”

Kurapika smothered a giggle, as he pulled out his own nightwear: A light blue shift made for warm nights like these. It was a good thing Pairo hadn’t been caught in the middle of Winter. He would’ve frozen to death in that prison. Kurapika would have to talk to the Emperor about that. Some prison reforms were in order.

“By the way,” Pairo called. “Mother said to warn you about the Consort’s Festival.”

“Oh?”

“Some old clients might be coming to it. She wants you to remain vigilant. ‘They could slander your reputation in a heartbeat’ was what she said. Also, watch out for assassins. You know how much they like big events.”

Kurapika grimaced. The thought of running into an old client hadn’t crossed his mind, but now that the idea had been brought up, he wouldn’t be surprised if one or two showed up. They’d be a problem in that case.

“Kurapika?”

“I’ll keep it in mind!” he responded, hoping he had nothing to worry about. A few minutes of silence followed, with Kurapika strategizing possible backup plans in case a client did recognize him.

“So, I hear you’re writing poems,” Pairo started, an obvious teasing edge to his voice.

Kurapika rolled his eyes but grinned nonetheless. “Oh, shut up, you know my talents lie elsewhere.”

**. End of Chapter .**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thoughts on Pairo? Too OOC? Something bothering you about him? Do let me know.
> 
> 2) Like I said, the continuity of this fic might get a little strange. I still don't completely know when this is set.
> 
> 3) Any comments, suggestions, critiques, predictions? Please let me know in the comment section below :)


	6. The Consort's Festival (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of stuff happens and the Festival is just starting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter took so long! It's also kind of jumbled in terms of plot because I'm setting up a lot of different plot points. I feel like I should slow it down a bit but meh. Anyway, I hope you all like this chapter! (Also, this is unbetaed, so that's why it's kind of shitty.)

**Playing Favorites**

**Chapter Six: The Consort’s Festival (Part Two)**

Kurapika’s eyes scanned the page, before letting it fall on the desk and look up at Pairo, who stood in front of him with a bashful grin on his pretty face. Kurapika had lent him some clothes – a bright red hanbok and black slippers – and they suited his lithe, delicate figure well. They both took after their respective mothers, although as a child Pairo looked like his father. Pairo’s dark hair remained in the same hairstyle after all these years, and Kurapika couldn’t quite see him with a different haircut after so long. 

“Show off,” he sniped, though the notes of affection in his voice were plain to the ear.

“You’re presenting this to the Imperial court itself,” Pairo shrugged, though he was blushing now. He’d always been sensitive when it came to his writing. “It has to be perfect.” 

The legs of the high-backed chair scraped along the hardwood floor, as Kurapika rolled up the paper and placed it within the protective cylindrical container each of the consorts had received. 

“I better get this to his Majesty,” Kurapika said, making sure to say the man’s title with the most derision possible. He put on his short coat, which was meant for casual outings but didn’t let anyone doubt for a second that he wasn’t one of the Emperor’s prized consorts. Most of the garments Machi had brought him were black, though there were a few colorful splashes here and there. He turned back to Pairo. “Did you take your medicine?” 

Pairo’s face fell a bit. “Ah, yeah.” 

Heart throbbing, Kurapika crossed the room to him and put his arms around Pairo’s small frame. “We’ll find a cure soon when this is finished.” 

Warm skin pressed against his shoulder, brown strands of hair tickling his cheek. His friend remained silent, returning his embrace. Kurapika knew Pairo had already resigned himself to his illness and an early death, but he wouldn’t give up, especially with doctors like Leorio out there. 

“But tonight, I’ll take you to the Festival, and we’ll see how well they deal with two Kurtas,” he said, holding him tighter, already forming an itinerary for the two of them. Just the two of them. He’ll probably have duties to attend to as one of the Emperor’s consorts, but he was sure they wouldn’t miss him too much if he disappeared for an hour or two to scavenge the Festival for food. 

The boy moved away and gave him a weak smile. “Go charm your Emperor.” 

Kurapika let out an audible groan, and whined, “I don’t want to.” 

Pairo pushed him toward the door. “Don’t you dare start slacking off now, Mother will be furious. Besides, say what you will about the Emperor, but he’s quite handsome.”

The young man pouted. “Why don’t you try to seduce him then? Besides, you can’t see him. How do you know that he’s attractive?”

“Your voice is how I know,” Pairo teased. Kurapika made a face. “He’s probably the evilest man in the entire Empire, though, so watch your step. If he hurts you, I’ll make sure to make him pay.” 

“And here I was thinking you were the cute, innocent one,” Kurapika drawled, kissing his cheek, one hand in the slot of the screen door, ready to push it aside, and the other giving Pairo’s hand a squeeze. 

“Bye.”

“Bye.” 

. . . 

The Emperor was speaking with a few officials near his office. Well, he was listening and they were speaking. The voices were quite adamant and rushed, Kurapika only caught snatches of the conversation. “Eastern haedod-i,” “Revolution,” “drought,” among other things. The pieces immediately fell into place. They were talking about the farmer’s revolution on the border of the Kakin Kingdom, the border with the Ryusei Empire. The one that was spilling into the Ryusei Empire. 

Kurapika bit his lip and decided that he could wait to give the Emperor his poem, but before he could step out of the corridor, a voice called out to him.

“Are you in such a hurry that you can’t manage a good morning, my Prince?” the Emperor chided, teasingly, his head marginally tipped to his side, a smile tugging at his lips. The other officials turned to him as well. A young man with long, dark hair and large, eerie eyes dressed in pine green silk. There were three other men, one which he identified as Benjamin Hui Guo Rou from the Kakin Kingdom. Another stood beside the Prince diligently, donning a carmine military uniform, as opposed to the formal hanbok Prince Benjamin was wearing. 

The last man was one of the Emperor’s advisors: Uvogin. He stood beside them, grinning as he recognized Kurapika.

Bating his breath, Kurapika bowed to the men. “I apologize for my intrusion.”

“Nonsense,” the Emperor said, gesturing for him to come closer, one hand extended to him. “Perhaps you can help us make sense of this issue.”

Brown eyes widened and glared, as his hand wrapped around the other man’s. The Emperor’s smile widened. “Me?” he asked, incredulously. 

“You are my consort, are you not?” the Emperor proposed, intertwining their fingers, “I require a partner that is politically conscious.”  

Everything he said made so much sense and Kurapika hated it. Burying his annoyance, he let a bashful smile grow on his face. 

“I’d have to know more about the situation to come up with a proper response, your Majesty. I am many things but a mind-reader I am not,” he quipped, hoping the bitterness was heard only by him. 

The Emperor chuckled. “Quite true, my Prince. I’m certain you’ve heard of the riots in East Haedod-i.” 

“I have,” he confirmed. “I’ve also heard rumors of the revolutionaries spilling out into Ryusei lands.”

Beside him, the Emperor gestured toward his office, as a few servants passed through the halls. “I suggest we move out conversation to a more private location.” 

The other three men complied, and Kurapika was dragged along by the hand. Kurapika sat down at the table with his shoulder touching Chrollo’s, feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable, and Benjamin and the dark-haired man sat down across from them. Benjamin’s companion remained standing. 

The Emperor began to speak once more. “What do you know of the damages?”

“There have been a few kidnappings, shops burned down. Many government buildings have taken a beating,” Kurapika listed off. It was all bits and pieces of rumors and newspapers. He had no idea how accurate his sources might be. 

“The property damage seems to have been a distraction,” The Emperor sighed, his eyes shut. Benjamin decided to take over at that moment, not giving Kurapika so much as a glance. 

“Their real goal is to kidnap as many people as quickly as possible,” Benjamin said, his accent running thick through his words. 

“How many people?” the consort found himself asking. Benjamin didn’t answer. 

For a second, Kurapika thought he saw the Emperor’s eyes narrow at the other royal, but when he turned to face him fully, the irritated expression was gone. “Enough for a small army. Mostly children.” 

Kurapika’s blood ran cold. Revolutionaries staging regular kidnappings, there was hardly a doubt they were looking for more people to fight in their war. The weaponization of human beings was a concept Kurapika had familiarized himself with when he first met Mother. It was strange it still had this effect on him to hear of things like this. He knew they existed, but somehow, hearing about them from this side of the playing field was eerie. 

“Do you know who’s kidnapping them?” he asked.

Prince Benjamin huffed, haughtily, “if we did, we would have caught them by now, but they are slippery. We have not been able to find even a trace of the missing people.”

Mother had been in contact with many trafficking circles. Perhaps she knew who was behind the Revolution. He’d have to ask Pairo to deliver a message to her. 

“I’d put a curfew in place,” Kurapika said, putting a finger to his chin, thoughtfully. “And let the people know what they need to in order to get them to follow the rules. If possible, I’d place a bait as well. Someone who could easily escape them and return with information on where the enemy’s hiding.”

The Emperor put a firm hand on his shoulder, but those gray eyes remained on the other three men in the room. Kurapika fought the urge to shove his hand away, as the Emperor began to speak. “Well, that’s that then. I can place one of my guards as the bait.”

“No,” the dark-haired man spoke for the first time, pushing his straight, black hair behind his ear. “My brothers will serve as bait. It’s more likely they’ll be captured, as they are children.”

“Children?” Kurapika repeated, incredulously. The hand on his shoulder tightened, a warning, and he held his tongue. As a consort, it was unsightly for him to lash out at someone of a higher class. For all intents and purposes, he was nothing more than the Emperor’s whore, a well-educated and rich one but still. There would always be people looking down on him. 

“They will do,” the Emperor replied, quieter now. “We’ll send them out once the Festival is over, and we have the advantage of forethought with us. For now,” he stood and crossed the room. The door slid open and he gestured to the outside, “I urge you to enjoy the festivities. Both our peoples need a reason to celebrate.”

One by one, they filed out, Benjamin mumbling something to his subordinate. The Emperor shut the door just as Kurapika was about to leave, and the young consort stumbled back in surprise. He turned to scowl at the Emperor, who didn’t spare him so much as a glance. 

“Honestly,” he muttered. “These people have no sense of timing.” 

“Pardon?” Kurapika prompted, his scowl turning into an expression of confusion. 

The Emperor took hold of the container in Kurapika’s hand, popping off the seal at the front and letting the scroll fall into his palm. He unraveled it and started to scan the page. Then, he looked up with those strange grey eyes with a smirk playing on his lips.

“You think my hair’s luscious?” 

Kurapika stiffened, eyes averted. “It has to be believable.” 

“You certainly laid it on a bit thick,” the Emperor said, placing the scroll in a pile of other poems at his desk. “I’m flattered, of course, but I feel like I’m going to have to live up to some unattainable expectations.”

“Would you prefer I called you a murderer and a thief? A tyrant who feels nothing, who killed my parents in cold blood?” Kurapika snapped, riled by his teasing. 

“There we go,” the Emperor murmured goodnaturedly, ruffling up his hair a bit. “Doesn’t that feel better.” 

Kurapika rolled his eyes, flattening his hair down. “May I leave now?”

The Emperor hummed, “no.”

“No?” Kurapika repeated. 

He met his eyes. “I want you to accompany me to the Festival.”

Kurapika frowned. If he accompanied the Emperor to the Festival, he would be required to spend the rest of the Festival by his side. He wouldn’t be able to spare even a second for Pairo.  

“Wouldn’t you rather take someone more suitable?” Kurapika asked. 

He seemed to consider for a second, then shook his head, “no, that would send the priests on a rampage. Traditionally, the Emperor has always been accompanied by his favorite consort. It’s a representation of what’s to come for all of Ryusei.” 

“You realize that I want to kill you –” A finger to his lips cut him off. 

“Not so loud,” the Emperor whispered. “And yes. You also happen to be the most interesting. I want to see how you react to a whole three days by my side.”

Kurapika’s jaw clenched. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He’d have to deal with not killing this bastard for a whole three days, all while being in close proximity to him the entire time. It was hard enough in the few hours they’ve already spent together. And Pairo. He’d been looking forward to spending some more time with him before Mother calls him back.  

“I’ll have them bring you your outfit. Be ready for tonight,” the Emperor said, waving him away. “I trust you’ll make these next few days interesting.” 

Interesting, interesting, interesting. He was nothing more than entertainment for this man. Not even a threat, just a pretty face with a decent brain attached. Kurapika hated it. Hated being downgraded to ‘interesting’, but his mission came first, and if being interesting got him close enough to drive a knife through the Emperor’s heart, then he had to keep it up. 

He bowed, and then slipped out of the room, keenly aware that the Emperor’s eyes were still on him.

. . .

“Kurapika-daegam!” His maids shuffled in later in the evening with arms filled with a variety of cloths and hair ornaments. “Congratulations on being his Majesty’s chosen consort for tonight’s celebration!” 

They pulled him off the divan, where he had been reading one of the many novels the Emperor had left, and started to undress him. One of the maids vanished into the bathing area to fill the bathtub. Once he was stripped down to just his shift, they pulled him into the bathroom. They left to get what sounded like hair products and told him to get in the water. 

The water smelled of honey, and Kurapika frowned. He always used to bathe in the honey-scented water back when he was still working for Mother in the brothel. It brought back less than pleasant memories. The leader of the maid squad came back in, followed by Kiya. In her hands was a jar of fermented rice water, and when she started to massage the liquid into his hair, Kurapika realized it smelled of lavender. 

“Close your eyes now, Kurapika-daegam.” 

She rinsed the concoction out of his hair with a bucket of hot water. His hand went up to push his bangs back, eyes still shut.

“Alright, out, out,” the woman said, handing him a towel and leaving once more. He started to pat his hair down with it. The Festival was starting in less than half an hour, and he wasn’t about to go outdoors with damp hair. He toweled himself dry and slipped into the pure white, strangely-ornate-for-something-no-one-else-would-see shift, which settled around him like gossamer. He stepped back into his quarters, where the women were done setting out his clothing. A black jeogori made of ramie fabric, a gold Phoenix emblem on the front and back of the jacket. The baji (trousers) were a solid black as well, with gold embroidery at the waist. 

Once they had secured the jacket and trousers around him, they threw on an overcoat, tied it all together with a gold sash, and steered him to a mirror. The leader picked up a jade comb and began to work at the knots in his hair. There weren’t any, so after a quick run-through, she pulled it into a pile atop his head and tied it into place with a ribbon. Kiya appeared in front of him, brown eyes shone brightly, with a box of what looked like cosmetics. 

“This will give your skin a nice shine,” she said, opening a jar of white paste and lathering it onto his pale face generously. Placing it off to the side, she wiped away the excess paste with a warm, wet towel. Then, she nodded, and went onto his eyes, bringing out what looked like a pencil and applying it to his upper and lower eyelids. “To enhance your beautiful eyes.”

“My goodness, Kiya, you can’t just tell the Emperor’s favorite consort that he has pretty eyes. What if someone hears you?” one of the other maids – a young woman with dark hair and a rather plain face – chastised, as she styled Kurapika’s hair. 

 Kiya chuckled, nervously. “Sorry, Yuka.” She turned back to her box of magic tricks and pulled out a small container. Kurapika recognized it as a common lip paint among nobles, usually reserved for women, but men, especially consorts, wore it frequently as well. When Kiya unscrewed the little bottle, a small paintbrush revealed the color inside to be a shade resembling cherry blossoms. Kurapika kept his mouth closed as she carefully slid the brush from one side to the other, evenly coating his lips in vibrant pink. “There!” 

Kurapika gazed into the mirror. He looked much like himself, and he supposed it made sense. Consorts were meant to be beautiful, but not so beautiful that they sent everyone within a mile radius into a frenzy. It wasn’t like when he worked for Mother and had to stand out with gold dust and bright flashes of winged eyeliner. 

“One of the Emperor’s guards will come by later to take you to his Majesty,” the leader said, as all the maids gathered at the door. They bowed in sync and left the room one right after the other. Pairo laughed somewhere off to the side.  

“You barely uttered a word,” he said, getting up from the couch. “That’s rare. Usually, you’ve got charming remarks at the ready.”

Kurapika loosened the gold sash around his waist until it was no longer stabbing into his ribs. “I didn’t really see an opening,” he coughed out. 

“Too tight?” 

“Yeah,” he replied, taking Pairo’s hands when the boy reached him. “Sorry I can’t take you with me.”

Pairo shrugged, but the corners of his eyes crinkled in sorrow. “It’s fine. You’re a married man now. You don’t have an endless supply of time.” 

“I always have time for you,” Kurapika said, pulling him into another embrace. “I asked one of the guards to take you instead. We’ll probably bump into each other somewhere along the way.” 

“You’ll make sure of it,” Pairo chuckled, burying his face in Kurapika’s shoulder, and the older man ran a hand through his soft, dark brown locks. 

The sound of the door opening forced them to break apart, and Kurapika recognized the people standing in the doorframe as the guard named Basho – a young man who donned the Ryusei military uniform at all times – and a woman with down-turned brown eyes and frail blonde hair cut at the shoulder. 

He squeezed Pairo’s hand and then threatened Basho a bit before letting the boy go with him. Turning to the woman dressed in purple, who smiled innocently.

“And you are . . .” he trailed off, trying his best to remain polite. 

“Pakunoda,” the woman replied, bowing to him with inhuman grace. “I’m here to accompany you to the Consort’s Festival.”

Kurapika could feel the surprise on his face, but he couldn’t quite force it down. “Oh.” 

A sort of teasing warmth enveloped her face. “Expecting someone else?” 

“I apologize.” He walked out of the room. “I’ve never seen you around the palace before.” 

“Well, you’ve only been here for a week,” Pakunoda remarked, walking away from him with ease. “Come along, punctuality is a valuable trait in the Emperor’s husband.” 

He caught up with her, familiar with the more constricting nature of his current outfit. “Consort.” 

Pakunoda glanced at him, knowingly. “Shalnark has told me about you. He said you were a perfect match for his Majesty. He was quite adamant about it as well, practically talked my ear off. ‘So smart,’ he’d claimed, ‘and he knows a lot about the state of Ryusei. I think Danchou likes him.’”

“What do you think?” Kurapika couldn’t help but ask, and his brain seemed to panic for some reason. It was as if this woman’s judgment would define his fate in the palace. 

Pakunoda laughed. “No need to be so afraid. I’m not a viper. Just curious.” Her face turned thoughtful. “But, I suppose I don’t quite see the appeal yet. You’re very pretty, but the other consorts are lovely as well. Educated, intelligent, and their pasts aren’t quite as murky as yours. Who knows how the public would react to some unknown character in the Imperial Palace.” 

There was nothing to refute. All her claims were issues Kurapika had realized as well, but his past wasn’t something he could change, as much as he’d like to. 

“But,” she began, “I think that might be why the Emperor’s latched onto you like this. Neither of you grew up in wealthy families, and you’re both outcasts in the Palace, despite your high positions in the court.” 

_ Outcasts? _

Characters on white paper flashed through his memory: 왕은 죽었다

_ The King is dead. Murdered by a man claiming to be his son.  _

_ Kuroro Lucilfer: A liar or a son. The new King breeds controversy all over the Nation. Is this the end of Ryusei?  _

Kurapika had first read those clippings as a child when the Emperor had first come to power. He hadn’t really cared back then, though his parents debated the topic endlessly when they thought he wasn’t around. They didn’t hate the Emperor then. They pitied him.

_ “Poor boy, forced to serve the court’s agenda,” _ they’d say. It wasn’t until later that they began to stage revolts and curse the Emperor’s name:  _ Kuroro Lucilfer, devil spawn.  _ They refused to believe he was the son of the deceased King, who, for all his flaws, was always compassionate. The Emperor, with his public executions and brutal methods, was anything but. He was unnecessarily cruel, a sadist.

_ An outcast. _

_ A child. _

Kurapika nearly toppled at the insinuation his brain had conjured. The Emperor had taken the throne at sixteen. At that point, his cruelty couldn’t be washed away with the excuse of childhood ignorance.

“Ah, I don’t know which one of you would suit him the best,” Pakunoda sighed, as if she’d given up on a question she’d been pondering for over a year. 

“You all seem very . . . invested in his relationships.” More so than the Emperor himself. In the little time, he’d spent in the Palace, only a small portion was spent devoted to his actual position as a consort. Not to mention that the Emperor had a baffling amount of self-control. No one had ever stood him up as he did. 

“Well, Kuro’s always kept to himself. He’s quite shy,” Pakunoda lamented, and Kurapika couldn’t help but give her his default look of skepticism, the look he often reserved for Leorio. “This consortship might be his only chance to find love.” 

“Love?” Kurapika repeated. His parents had been in love, but they had been peasants and bakers. Royalty couldn’t afford love, and he was quite certain the Emperor was incapable of it. 

“Paku!” A voice much like the Emperor’s called out, but that wasn’t quite right, because the Emperor never shouted like that. Nevertheless, it was his Majesty who marched toward them, a mixture of concern and annoyance on his face. “What are you doing here?” 

**. End of Chapter .**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) And that's the end! I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> 2) I feel like I shed some light on Kuroro and Kurapika's past at the end there. 
> 
> 3) I hope this chapter wasn't too confusing and jumbled. It made sense in my head lol. 
> 
> 4) Am I making this slow burn romance develop too fast. I feel like their relationship shouldn't be developing so quickly.
> 
> 5) Do let me know what you think in the comment section!


	7. The Consort's Festival (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurapika goes to find Pairo and meets an old client instead.

**Playing Favorites:**

**Chapter 7: The Consort’s Festival (Part Two)**

Pakunoda crossed her arms, but a playful smile grew on her lips. “You seem well. How’s married life treating you?”

The Emperor grimaced, and Kurapika wondered if he might be going insane. So much emotion couldn’t be healthy for his nonexistent heart. He was even slouching a bit now, and Kurapika was quite certain the man’s posture had always been stiff as a rod. “Who told you?”

“I have my sources,” Pakunoda replied. Siblings? But Kurapika was sure the Emperor was an only child. Then again, his origins were a mystery to all but the man himself. But the woman looked nothing like him. She was beautiful, yes, but not the sort of beauty one could find in the Emperor’s perfectly sculpted features.

Kurapika watched the scene divulge, as the Emperor’s eyes narrowed and his mood dipped from concern to irritation.

“You’re going back to your room,” the Emperor said, gesturing to his own guards. Only one of which actually stepped forward. He was a scruffy man, older than the Emperor, and he looked thoroughly ready to take a nap as soon as the moment became available to him.

“I feel fine,” Paku insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder, reassuringly. She was so casual about it, too! Who was she?

The scruffy guard looked between the two, looking dazed, while Kurapika watched with intensity. This could be vital to his mission.

For a few seconds, the two of them stared at each other, then the gong rang to signal the beginning of the festival and the Emperor tore his gaze away.

“Very well, but if your heart starts acting up, I’m sending you back to your quarters,” snapped the Emperor, taking Kurapika by the arm and stalking away. Kurapika was still shell-shocked. Emotions? The Emperor? Especially those sorts of emotions?

“Are you feeling alright?” Kurapika asked. If the Emperor was going insane, that might put a damper on their plans, or expedite them. “Who is that woman?”

“Currently, the bane of my existence,” the Emperor said, returning to that mellow, even tone.

Kurapika ignored the insult. “Is she another one of your advisors? They keep ambushing me.”

“Not exactly,” the Emperor replied, letting go of Kurapika’s arm. They entered the corridor to the courtyard. “She’s . . . an old friend. We have a complicated relationship.”

“Does she want to end you, too?” The doors slid open to reveal an illuminated courtyard. Lanterns were strung from the rooftops, the phoenix insignia a fiery orange against pale yellow. As a nation built from nothing, that had been torn apart and had vanished from the map several times, the phoenix was a fitting national symbol, and it was everywhere.

“For an assassin, you’re quite vocal about your plans,” the Emperor said, nodding to the guards posted at the doors. The two of them walked down a path of gold silk and pale pink petals. Gold for eternity, and pink for pure love. People were already gathered in the courtyard, carrying mooncakes and tteok. Most of them bowed, though it was not required. The Emperor might have been a tyrant, but he demanded respect, and his subjects gave it to him without question.

Well, most of them did.

A throne, made for two, sat at the end of the carpet of gold silk. The gazebo built around it had been dressed in lights and flowers and had a seat for each of the other consorts, as well as the Emperor’s trusted advisors.

The Emperor allowed him to sit down on the cushioned throne first, kissing his hand at some point in that process. The rest of their party took seats around them. Several servants arrived with food and drink, and the Emperor offered him a cold beverage colored a pink hue. Kurapika sipped it reluctantly, instinctively wary of anything his arch enemy gifted him. It was delicious but definitely alcoholic.

“I’d rather not become intoxicated in front of all these people,” Kurapika said, handing the drink back.

“I’ve yet to see anyone get drunk off one of these,” the Emperor replied. “Besides, I’m not one to allow my consorts to humiliate themselves.”

Kurapika tipped a dubious eyebrow. “Somehow, I can’t bring myself to believe you.”

“It’s also tradition for the consort to accept a drink from the Emperor as a token of their trust and appreciation for one another,” he added. Kurapika ran through a mental checklist of all the responsibilities of a consort. Sure enough, the acceptance of some sort of beverage was among them. How vexing.

Kurapika took another sip. Despite the fact that he was still recovering from his unfortunate intoxication a few nights prior, Kurapika found himself taking a liking to the sweet tang of the drink.

“Pomegranate champagne,” the Emperor supplied. “Thought it was fitting.”

“Must’ve been expensive.” Far too expensive for an obscure reference to a Greek myth.

“It was a gift,” said the Emperor.

“From whom?”

A pause in the Emperor’s usually fluid responses made him turn. His lips parted, but nothing came out. Kurapika felt the urge to touch his shoulder and shake him back to reality, but that would require more contact than desired.

“Just some old acquaintances,” the Emperor replied. “From Peridot.”

Peridot. That was quite a trip. At least three weeks by sea. Then another few days by land. Most of Peridot was populated by the rich and influential, but even they would be cutting it close with that sort of journey.

“They must be fond of you,” Kurapika said.

“Indeed.” The Emperor took a long swig of his own champagne, and Kurapika wondered how much further he could push him without stirring his seemingly nonexistent temper. Then again, was it worth seeing more of the Emperor’s apparent humanity just to satisfy his curiosity.

He kept his mouth shut. The Emperor stood to greet his guests, who gave him their undivided attention.

“My friends,” he outstretched his arms to his people. “These past few years have been filled with strife and suffering, as we dealt with the remnants of the last Emperor’s corrupted court and helped appease the rioters.” _Appease._ Kurapika nearly rolled his eyes. His parents had been among those rioters. They’d been anything but appeased.

Kurapika took a breath, trying not to have his eyes linger on the Emperor for too long. He could skewer him with a dagger through the back right now, but just a glance toward the guards on either side of the throne quelled those ambitions.

“Tonight marks the beginning of a new era in which we will strive for peace and prosperity.” He turned to Kurapika, gesturing to him grandly. “And what better way to usher in a new time than with a new love.”

_Love?_

He was surprised, though he wasn’t sure why. From the moment he met him, he’d known the Emperor was skilled at deceiving individuals and crowds alike. But right now, even Kurapika found himself drawn in, believing him, despite knowing that what they had could only be hatred. His words alone were simple and saccharine, but when they came out of his mouth . . .

Tch, manipulative bastard. Just another reason to despise him.

“Therefore, I implore you to enjoy tonight’s festivities, as well as join us for the next two nights in our celebration of a new era,” the Emperor continued, his eyes still on Kurapika. Oh dear. “But first, let us enjoy the performances of our lovely consorts.” Our? “As they greet the arrival of our partnership with a number of carefully crafted lines of verse.” The Emperor offered a hand to Kurapika, and the two of them stood before the crowd with joined hands.

Kurapika glanced at the Emperor, who offered no instructions. Surely, he didn’t expect him to have memorized every line of that poem? The mass of people gazed at him, waiting for the poem of the century.

In his mind, the consort threw up his hands in exasperation. He’d been through worse. A little thing like total public humiliation wouldn’t stop him. Besides, this was Pairo’s poem, and Kurapika had never forgotten a single word of Pairo’s poems.

He wet his lips, and spoke, trying his best to imitate the Emperor’s soft baritone. Or maybe he was a tenor. Kurapika couldn’t be sure.

_“I crave_

_for a distant future._

_Of loving whispers_

_and tender nights._

_I gaze into silver_

_and run my hand through_

_luscious ebony waves,_

_and what I crave_

_is the present.”_

Kurapika was certain he’d missed a few lines, but the Emperor seemed satisfied as he led Kurapika back to their throne. The other four consorts were led up to the front of their little stage one by one, but Kurapika didn’t bother listening to their poems. His attention remained on the Emperor’s expression, one that remained polite yet indifferent throughout. How rude. These girls had to work hard to get to this point. Ah well, Kurapika supposed that was a good thing. If the Emperor genuinely fell in love with one of the other Consorts, then he might reconsider playing this game with Kurapika. Then again, Kurapika had no way of knowing if this indifference was real, or if he was simply putting up another front. Even with all his training, the Emperor’s psyche remained a mystery. Well, almost.

Kurapika glanced toward where the Emperor’s advisors sat, talking amongst each other with mountains of food before them. Pakunoda sat beside the pink-haired Machi, engaging the woman in what looked like polite small talk.

Who was she, really? And what had she done to earn a piece of the Emperor’s heart? And did it matter? How much of an impact would she have on his plans?

“Plotting, my Prince?” the Emperor asked, sitting down next to him once more. Kurapika nearly jumped off the throne. His hand was wrapped in the Emperor’s strong grip, and Kurapika turned to him, aware that there was currently a crowd of people stealing glances at the two of them.

“Of course not, your Majesty,” Kurapika said. “Just thinking.”

“Scheming, you mean,” the Emperor sighed. Kurapika fought back the urge to scowl. “You must forgive me.”

Kurapika’s brow furrowed. If he thought a simple apology would make their situation any less murderous, then he was gravely mistaken.

“I know you were looking forward to spending the Festival with your friend,” he finished. Kurapika stared at him, his expression blank. What was happening? Was he facing up to the consequences of his own actions? Impossible. “I do it only because sacrifices are necessary when you rule a country. That being said,” he leaned against the throne’s armrest, “I suppose there’s nothing left for you to do.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ll give you an hour,” the Emperor said. “Use your time wisely. There’ll be guards monitoring your movements, but they shouldn’t bother you unless something happens.”

Was he kicking him out?

“I thought that was against tradition?” Kurapika asked.

“Oh, it is, but I’ve already broken so many rules, I doubt anyone will mind,” the Emperor sighed, massaging his forehead. “Or at least, I’ll be the one to take the fall, so don’t concern yourself with it. Go to him.”

Kurapika stood, still hardly believing what had transpired.  He’d been under the impression that the Emperor was trying to force his hand, but in that case, what was the purpose of helping him? Nevermind that, why had he saved Pairo in the first place? The man’s actions had been nothing short of contradictory. Could it be he was just doing whatever he pleased?

The consort kneeled before his Emperor and kissed his hand, before stepping out of the back of the gazebo, away from prying eyes.

“May I borrow your cloak?” he asked one of the guards, who obliged without a sound. It was a drab, brown color, and covered him from head to toe with ease, obscuring the black silks underneath. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Pakunoda approach the Emperor. Perhaps they were lovers? But why would the Emperor need consorts, then? Why not just marry the mystery woman? She seemed intelligent enough, and they got along well.

Kurapika shrugged. He had an hour. Best not to let it go to waste.

If he knew Pairo, he’d be next to the artists’ tents. The Emperor had run down the layout of the Festival a few hours prior, and if Kurapika remembered correctly, the artists were just behind the fabric stalls. He dove into the crowd, free from those everpresent stares. The extra cloak turned the warm night sweltering. Even so, it gave him an extra layer of security, and so, Kurapika felt it was worth it.

The scent of mooncakes and tteok drifted about the food alley, and Kurapika was driven to buy two cakes: one for himself, and one for Pairo, once he found him. Pairo couldn’t have sweets too often, but this could be considered something of a special occasion. The vendor had given him a suspicious look but decided not to comment on his appearance. After all, a paying customer was a paying customer. The saying permeated every industry, it seemed.

Kurapika continued on, past the fabric section, until he saw a line of tents, each holding precious pieces of art protected against any sort of weather. He entered the first of the tents, popping in just to search for a familiar figure dressed in red. On the third tent, he decided to ask around.

“A pretty boy in red?” one of the men responded. “Can’t say I’ve seen him. What? Did something happen?”

“No. Well, at least I hope not,” Kurapika said, genially. “Keep an eye out for me, will you, gentleman?”

The men nodded, seeming more comfortable now. Kurapika gave them a smile and turned to leave.

“Alright, lads, what’ve you got in this shack?”

Kurapika’s brain felt numb. Some part of him was aware he had frozen at the voice almost immediately, and that the men had noticed, and that the best course of action right now would be to keep moving. But the rest of him was overcome with fright.

_“Sing for me.”_

It was the same. The same voice. He daren’t look.

“Prince Tserriednich,” one of the men spoke again. “We’re honored to be in your presence.”

“No need to be so formal, my friend,” Tserriednich said, and the relaxed tone of his voice seemed to free the consort. Kurapika pulled his cloak closer around him and approached the entryway, but Tserriednich placed a hand on his shoulder. “And you are?”

“Pardon?”

“Sorry,” Tserriednich chuckled. Everything about him was welcoming until he pinned you to a bed and tried to crush your windpipe. “I heard you talking outside, and thought you sounded familiar. Have we met before?”

Kurapika shook his head vigorously.

“No? That’s strange,” he scratched the back of his head, “I was so sure.” He looked down at him through hooded eyes. The consort’s fingertips grazed the curtain to the outside. If he took a step back, Kurapika would be out of the tent. But that would mean officially piquing the Prince’s interest.

The Prince put a hand against the pole beside his left ear and leaned forward.

“Mind taking off the hood?” he whispered, so close Kurapika could feel his breath on his cheek. It smelled of tea and cake.

The consort pulled at the tip of his hood with two fingers, further concealing his eyes. “I’m afraid not. I had an accident a few years back that left my face scarred. It’s left me unfortunately insecure about my appearance, you see.”

The Prince’s eyebrows rose in skepticism, but they were cut off by the other men.

“Would you like to see our latest shipment, your Highness?”

 _Saved._ They were good men after all.

The Prince was now distracted, and Kurapika slipped out of the tent without a sound and ran. He didn’t get too far, colliding with some idiot standing just a few feet away. His mooncakes nearly fell on the dirt path.

“Kurapika?”

Pairo. Kurapika gazed up, though it wasn’t Pairo he saw. It was a gangly, tall young man with spiky hair and the smallest glasses you've ever seen, dressed in clothes that were too formal for him. His heart nearly leaped out of his throat.

“Leorio?”

His childhood friend popped his head over Leorio’s shoulder. “So, you do know each other!”

“Are you okay?” Leorio asked, hands clasped on Kurapika’s shoulders. His hood fell now, revealing his painted face, and Leorio’s jaws unhinged. Slowly, a red blush crept up his face. 

“Is something wrong, Kurapika,” Pairo asked. Kurapika felt his pulse begin to race again, that familiar panic clenching his heart, his breathing coming out in shallow bursts. _No. Nonononono. He wasn’t doing this here. Get a grip._

Leorio seemed to move in for a hug, and Kurapika pushed him away with a little too much force than was necessary. One deep breath was all it took to regain some semblance of his composure. He handed Leorio his bag of mooncakes.

“You can share these. I need to be heading back already.” He pulled his hood up. Somehow, he longed for the well-secured confines of the Emperor and the gazebo. Where he was now, he was vulnerable, even with that guard in the shadows (who was clearly useless).

“But we just met up again,” Pairo said, and Kurapika wished he could be braver for him. But not now. Not with Tserriednich roaming about.

“I’ll meet you back in my room,” Kurapika said, squeezing his hand. “I’m on a time limit. You two just . . . stay safe.”

Pairo pouted but shrugged, anyway. “Alright.”

“Hey, what about me?” Leorio asked. “I won’t be able to see you again after this!”

“We weren’t supposed to see each other again in the first place,” Kurapika snapped back, moving past him with finality. “Besides, all three days of the Festival are open to the public. We can meet tomorrow.”

Leorio gazed at him as if he’d handed him a chest of jewels.

Well, he supposed a few more brief meetings wouldn’t hurt either of them.

. . .

“That was quite the charming thing you did, Kuroro,” Paku said. The woman had seated herself beside him now, her lips darkened by wine. He knew she wasn’t drunk. “Though, I’m afraid it just served to make the poor boy more confused regarding your intentions.”

“Oh?”

Paku shrugged, matter-of-factly. “I thought your whole plan was to break him? He did, too, apparently.”

“I never said that.”

“It was implied,” Paku said. Kuroro rolled his eyes. She’d always enjoyed reading in between the lines.

He looked down into his half-finished glass of champagne. “I thought so, too, at the beginning.”

“What changed?” She took a small bite of a dessert she’d taken off the silver platters being carried around.

“I suppose,” he took a sip. “I realized he was already broken. Nothing I did would break him further, short of torture. And I’m afraid I’m not too keen on torturing my consorts.”

Her expression grew thoughtful for a moment, but then she simply rolled her eyes. “Just admit that you’ve taken a liking to the boy.”

“It’s a complicated relationship,” Kuroro replied, looking over the crowd of subjects. “I’ll let you know when it sorts itself out.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few seconds until Paku’s real question came spilling out.

“And what of Peridot?”

“There’s nothing to say.”

Paku fixed him with a stern gaze. “Kuroro, you know lying is bad for my heart.”

“I’d wish you didn’t speak of your illness so casually,” Kuroro sighed. “But I suppose that’s impossible.” He spotted a hooded figure winding its way through the crowd. Back so soon? Kuroro had expected him to be late if anything. How strange.

“Looks like your husband is back,” Paku stood, flattening out the folds of her clothing. “Enjoy yourselves. I expect an answer tomorrow.” She placed her empty dish on a passing platter and returned to her seat beside Machi.

Kurapika had vanished from his sight by that time, presumably taking another path to the gazebo. A few minutes later, he heard soft footfalls on wood. Kurapika appeared behind the throne, cloakless.

“I see absence does make the heart grow fonder,” Kuroro said. His consort sat down beside him without a word, and Kuroro glanced at him. There was pink flush to his cheeks and he could hear his breathing coming out ragged.

He’d run here.

“Something happened. What was it?”

Kurapika swallowed, thickly. “It does not concern you.”

Five seconds in and the freeze had already started. “Kurapika, if there’s anything that poses a threat to you, then I’m afraid it does concern me. What happened?” He couldn’t have potential assassins running around. Well, other than the one beside him right now.

The consort refused to answer him, his face obscured by golden locks and a hand that seemed ready to pull them out. That was telling. And yet, Kuroro couldn’t even begin to guess what could be so horrible that his consort would be rendered speechless. Kuroro already knew his little Prince was out to kill him. Nevertheless, he leaned back in his throne, letting the topic go.

Just a few more hours, and then he’d force it out of him.

**. End of Chapter .**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> (!) This took me so long, you guys! I don’t wanna say it’s all because of my new puppy, but it’s all because of my new puppy. Had to get a border collie. Not some normal, calm breed like a lab. Tsk, tsk. Jk, I love my Mikoko.
> 
> (2) I had a lot of inconsistencies I was gonna talk about here, but I forgot all of them. Ah, I hope this chapter cleared up Chrollo’s intentions, I guess. Forgive my nonexistent poetry skills.
> 
> (3) Did you catch that stuff about Peridot? Hold onto that.
> 
> (4) I’m dying over here. There’s so much to get to!
> 
> (5) I hope you liked this chapter anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Please leave your thoughts below. I'd love to hear any suggestions! Also, if you have anything you want me to write in particular, please let me know! I can usually fit most of your ideas in.
> 
> Also, follow me on Twitter @Islandsofbooks and chat with me on Tumblr (username islandsofbooks). Also, I have a novel up on Tapas, so if you enjoy my writing, copy the link below to read more (and subscribe).
> 
> https://tapas.io/episode/1092849


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